guts

I saw today that a former friend of mine got a new job. He got out.

It would be nice to follow in those footsteps. I got out the first time by being laid off. The second time by being fired.

Here’s hoping the third time, is a fucking shitastic awesomefest.

And that I get to make the choice.

Of course, I’m the one who keeps diving back in.

Gluttony and all. It’s my deadly sin.

I stopped writing months ago. Even though I get paid to write now. I feel like, rather, I know that I don’t write anymore. I got inspired for about 15 minutes today. At the desk. I threw out some e-mails and got some responses and then flat-lined.

It had more to do with a feeling than a fact, but I still have to face it. Head on. You know, for the penis.

I wonder too much about the past. I don’t wonder about the future. I don’t care about the future. At least that’s what I tell myself. I lie a lot. Not to other people.

Scorching forcing eating bumbling stifling working forking fasting fucking.

One time the girl looked at me and I didn’t look away. She laughed seconds later. I’ll never know if she was laughing at me or not. Because I didn’t have the guts to ask. I did have the guts to not look away, like usual, but I didn’t ask. She wanted to tell me. I didn’t have the guts to ask.

My mind still wanders over to her side of the bed. Every day. I can’t stop it from happening. No matter what. I’m happy now. Happier than I was before. Before what? I don’t know. Can I say I’m happier now, more content, more whatever than I was then? No. But I can’t say I’m not either.

It’s weird. I don’t know what’s right or wrong. What happened and what I want to have happened. It’s all a blur. I guess it helps one cope, the memory’s ability to play tricks on you. If we all remembered things exactly as they happened, every fucking second, we’d go crazy. We’d go mad. And I want that. I want to be mad, because of it. Not be mad because you think you are.

My head explodes with pain now. The teeth are rotten. The sinuses are infected. My heart probably is waiting to explode or just stop or whatever happens when they don’t have the strength to go on. Like a person, I guess. Sometimes they just quit. No warning. No reason given. It just happens.

Bye bye.

I stopped drinking soda for over 5 years once.

I dated the same girl for over 5 years once.

I drink soda now.

I’ve dated six girls since.

Why does that matter? Why do I type it? Fuck you. Fuck you in the ear. Or maybe a bloody eye socket after the eye was ripped out by feral cats. Sure, yeah, that sounds like fun. To watch. Maybe to make happen.

Probably not though.

You see? You see?

No. You never do.

Romanticizing the past like it’s some great place. Like a 78-year old who wants the 1950s back. Why? Because he's a racist shitbag. That’s why.

I don’t hate anyone. There are plenty of people, individuals I can’t stand. But I don’t hate. It’s a waste of time. It really is. Try not hating for a moment.

Of course, that’s a lie. Many times I’ve hated myself. Most would say I still do. I’m not sure anymore. I guess my behavior kind of says I hate myself.

Fucked up.

Do it. Smell it. Eat it. Fuck it. Lick it. Write it down. Drive the extra mile. Take the wrong turn on purpose so you can talk for another five minutes.

Why? Because you’ll be dead one day.

Either of old age at 91 or run over by a semi while getting a box of diapers for your newborn baby.

Which is more likely? Depends on the level of hatred. The size of the dick. The blue of the eyes.

I bought a new car two and half years ago. It’s going to pass 80,000 miles in a day or so.

Even the mechanics at the dealer go “Damn, dude. You drive a lot.”

No shit.

And I’m tired of doing it.

Not because of the deed itself, but the destination.

Then change it, asshole.

I’m working on it, I’ll say.

You’re always working on it.

It’s part of my charm.

And your destiny.

twizzlers

She bent over to pick up the laundry that fell to the floor when she pulled a sheet out of the dryer. I watched. Was it wrong when I was disappointed when she bent at the knees instead of at a sharp angle?

“She’s no stripper,” I thought. Although her white pants, just a bit too tight, said otherwise. I stared at her. Mesmerized even. She saw me. Didn’t seem to care. After closer inspection, I’d guess she was pushing 45. Wonder if the kiddie socks are her kids’ or grandkids’? This made me lose interest.

I start to wonder if it is possible to meet someone at a Laundromat? I seriously doubt it. Maybe at 23. Not at 39.

I settle back into actually doing laundry. Put the whites with the whites and all that.

One of the dryers I’ve picked to put my clothes in has a faulty clock on it. I started it at the same time as the one next to it, yet it has 7 minutes left, the other has 5. I wonder if any one else notices such things? The last time I was here, one of the washing machines took almost double the amount of time to go through the cycle than it was supposed to. I guess that’s affecting profit margins. At least on one machine?

Today, my last day off before another fascinating five-day shift of boredom and trite conversations with people I don’t really like, I’ve decided to go to random places and see if I can meet someone. Anyone really.

The Laundromat lady didn’t seem like my cup of tea. I made eye contact and all that. Even brushed by her to get some water from the drinking fountain. I shudder to think what disease I may have caught from it…

But, I made no headway. Of course, I could have just say “Hello” and seen what happened next, but that seems too easy.

I finish my laundry and go home.

The wind is howling about 45 miles per hour and the smell is quite nice. Spring is definitely in the air, as well as lots of salt water. It’s quite an awesome thing to have the salty taste and smell just everywhere. It’s been gone for quite some time. I guess that’s normal for the beach. The winds and humidity and warmth go away for the winter and it seems all of the sudden it’s come back.

A woman is sitting in her SUV in the parking lot across from my house. I decide I’m going to watch her. She just sits there, staring into space, when all of the sudden…she answers her cell phone. Taking the initiative, I walk over to the parking lot and sit on the fence. This, most likely, will creep her out. Unless we are kindred spirits and she is intrigued. I watch to see what happens.

She notices me. Talks in the phone some more.

I stay put. Just idly watching.

She starts the car, still talking on the phone. And…she drives away. I see a little look at me when she drives by. Better than nothing I suppose.

Next, I go back on the road. To…the dollar store. Mundane as it gets, I guess.

Inside, the place is full of folk. Most are buying balloons and cards and candy. Sigh. It’s interesting. An old black woman is there, she’s looking at $1 Mardi Gras masks. I make eye contact. Say “Hello.” She smiles and says “Hello” back at me.

Conversation over. She goes back to her mask looking. I go back to looking for a tape measure. I figure I can measure my posters to get the right frames for once.

A fat guy with a beard is paying for his stuff. I look at him and see Newman. Well, Newman from “Jurassic Park.” I watch him. He seems happy. And a couple of seconds later, I understand why. “They have Twizzlers!” a perky, black-haired woman shrieks and comes up to him. She stops half an inch from his gut and gives him a big hug. She’s at the most 24 years old. He’s 35-40. Good for him. At least those Twizzlers will have some fun tonight too.

I leave the dollar store. Don’t really want to clash with humanity anymore.

Instead, I pull into my driveway and go inside my house. I put in “A Prayer for the Dying” and pull up my old quilt -- still has never been washed -- and fall into my stupid coma for an hour and a half or so.