Shit

The wind really started blowing about 10 minutes ago.

Five minutes after I got the hiccups. Damn strawberry daiquiris. Which of course means, at the moment, I’m in a relationship.

She kissed me on the forehead and said “Good night” about 20 minutes ago. Since then, I’ve been staring at nothingness. A blank Word document that stares back worse than any stray cat with a bit of rabies ever will.

“I’ll get you another beer,” she says before she leaves.

I answer with “Why? So I can get drunker staring at this fucking thing?”

Not the best way to handle that. She actually is the first girl I’ve been around that has encouraged me to stare blankly at the screen, notepad or what have ya, and put words down. It’s a strange feeling, really. Someone who believes in me when I still don’t believe in myself.

If I’m writing about some kid in community college who fucked his life up but got a second chance in the NFL/NBA/NHL/whatever fucking sport you choose draft, I’m great at that. I guess because the story is already played out. It just needs to be dissected and transcribed, so much easier than just making it up. Or is it. Reality trumps fiction, right?

Shit. I don’t know.

The many mistakes of my past stare at me currently. I don’t feel their urgency in gaining attention to things. God damn it.

Yep. I cuss God. Quite often in fact. Why? Because he’s never given me a reason to stop. Which, of course, is exactly why I shouldn’t stop, someone with a white shirt, tie and Gideon’s bible in hand will tell me.

The damn ping-pong ball is staring at me. And is ping pong ball hyphenated or not? God damn it. I hate that feeling.

Anyways, yes, anyways, not anyway, I decided to just open another beer and think about it.

On antibiotics that I need for my teeth, but only because I don’t get the dental work done on them that I should do, not for the cut in my hand which was so un-severe that the doctor scoffed at my even paying him 30 bucks to look at it. The shit and the fan just don’t love each other like they used to.

I hate most people I meet. Only because most people I meet work at the same place I do. Which means generally, they shouldn’t be working there.

If I meet someone at a party, heaven forbid, I love ‘em. The last guy I met probably wanted to shoot me in the eye because I wouldn’t stop talking about the Minutemen and Johnny Thunders. But hell, the last person I talked to at work about JT openly scoffed at his worthlessness. I think if I’d had a gun, I would have used it.

It’s why I lament the internet. We’re all so full of snark and bite. Yes. All of us are. Just a few of us actually draw blood. And I’m not one of them. So far. And it hurts. I just don’t think it hurts most.

How am I going to come up with over 200 more words to type?

Shit. Damn. Motherfucker. Cocksucker. Oh wait, that’s been done.

“It was the best of times, it was the worst of times…”

Damn it.

I had a really good idea about throwing pizza out the window, but I just don’t want to think about it at the moment. That’s the real problem, isn’t it? Thinking?

Shit.

I’ve said shit a lot today.

Shit.

Shit.

Shit.

Wet shit.

Drippy shit off your ass.

The kind that stays behind. Even if you used too much toilet paper. Enough to clog the freaking commode.

How the hell do you spell commode? Did you fucking know it had two Ms? I had no clue until 10 seconds ago.

Live and learn. That’s why we are here.

At least that’s what my teachers always told me. Fuck my teachers. The only one I’ve seen since I was “taught” by them spends his nights in the same bar as my dad. Drinking away the failure that is his life. Or at least the perception of failure. Shit. We are all failures if you compare it to someone better. So, damn. Just compare your life to the bum you see every day asking for change to ride the bus. I mean, even if you have no reason to live, you at least have the change to ride the bus? Right? If not, just fucking kill yourself. Shit.

Bye.

This was fun.