I laid down in bed and started to write the post that I don’t want to write. I don’t want to write this post, not because it’s going to be different than other posts in some disturbing way, but rather because it’s going to be very quotidian and bland. So I started to write this post that I have been putting off writing all day, which I am only going to write because I said that I would post every day for the rest of this year and I never do the things that I say I’ll do. I never do the things that I don’t want to do. So now I’m writing the post I didn’t want to write and I realize that I can’t even type it properly on my phone because I’ve wrapped my thumb in a band aid.
What am I even fucking doing today? I don’t know, y’all. I been trying to make this shit more readable, but I don’t even give a fuck right now. I’m sitting in bed with cat hair all over me. I got this hoodie from American Giant or something like that.
Morgan left the house to go out and play basketball. I didn’t see it coming but I’m ready for this dude to be out of my house. I remember when I lived with my other brother, and that got bad enough I think and he had his own room. This dude is just living in the living room. Playing the newest Kid Cudi album while we’re looking for a place for him to live. Took up all morning again. Then I’m washing mad dishes. I don’t even give a fuck about washing dishes these days. I’m all about it. Not like the old days. But damn. Life is off kilter.
It doesn’t even really matter, I guess.
I’m trying to help him pay all his bills and shit on time. Looks like I’m going to have to figure out which bills can wait after all. He can’t make money fast enough. Shit I’m sleepy, too. I’m bout to take a nap, fuck it. Least I can go to work refreshed.
“It’s so chill,” said the girl. But it’s different now.
Yesterday I got so tired. We walked around Central Park and the upper east side. We saw a fire up there. Then we were completely fucked by the subway. Then we tried to negotiate the streets in a Lyft. That was even worse. We had to run a mile to the next station to make sure he got to his second day of work on time. We pretended like nothing happened.
I drank a glass of white wine and felt woozy and phlegm collected in my throat. I slept ten hours and now I don’t want to get out of bed. We have a lot of work to do, but I’m worried I’m neglecting other work I have to do. It’s like I’m back where I was. In some ways. Maybe once I get out of this bed I’ll be alright.
My little brother, Morgan, came to live here the other day. He almost went to prison but instead they just charged him a hundred bucks. I thought it was some kind of marijuana charge but it seems like it was something to do with driving without a registration or something like that. I got him a job at the restaurant. He doesn’t really know what he’s doing but most of the people there don’t so why not.
He got here yesterday and I brought him home to drop off his stuff and then I brought him to work. I dropped him off. The bar manager was like, don’t you want to stay a while? Don’t you want to come back and hang out after his shift? I said no and then looked away. She kind of laughed. That was easy.
He’s a quiet kind of guy. I don’t really know him too well.
I was a fool to think that I could understand myself by sitting in a room alone.
I went up the stairs in the library and the security guard walked up. She said, “Hello?” As if it was obvious that there was nothing for me up there. I went down in the basement and there was a bathroom. She said, “Only the first floor is the library.”
I said, “Well it’s written on the whole building: library. I didn’t realize.”
“Thank you,” she said.
“Thank you,” said I.
Can’t I just make up my mind to feel the way I do when I tell the truth without actually telling the truth?
Hell doesn’t seem like a bad place. Can’t I stay a little longer?
I texted a million people this morning. I still feel lonely.
If I work hard and focus, I can get my life on track. I don’t need to actually tell the truth, do I?
I don’t need to face myself, right?
It’s her fault, isn’t it? It’s not my fault.
It’s not my fault, right?
Where’s the bottom of this fucking quicksand anyway.
My wife said yesterday that I looked good. She said I looked relaxed. And I guess I did look relaxed. One time, this guy said I looked I was being consumed from within.
I feel many positive emotions just from the little bit of honesty I’ve been able to achieve so far. I feel more powerful and effective. I do feel more relaxed. My head feels more spacious.
But I’m still really scared of confrontation and the things that I’ve decided to do. I don’t know if I’ll ever actually go through with the scariest confessions. But I’m sure the stronger, future me will be able to handle it. Right now, I still get sick thinking about how I’m going to break it to my bar manager that I don’t want to go hiking with her ever. That’s a weird situation that’s been on my mind as a kind of test for myself. It’s my wife who really doesn’t want to go, but I’m tired of blaming shit on her. And if I think about it the only reason I would go hiking with the bar manager is because she keeps asking me. So you see when you think about it I don’t even know what it means not to want to do something. I’m so used to doing whatever I have to do to avoid disagreeing with someone. In the past I would just make something up, like a heart condition.
So yeah anyways for the most part I feel pretty relaxed.
I didn’t smoke weed, and I didn’t drink, but under the fluorescent lights of Canal Street Station I feel like a thing that slithers. Somehow my fingernails got dirty. I was walking with the girl who I was formerly obsessed with, and I was telling her what I thought was a very interesting story. What I know was an interesting story, in fact, from her gasps every time we hit a pivotal point. And then, in the middle, we ran into some old friends of hers she hadn’t seen in a while. She’s from here and she’s popular, so this happens a lot. There were eight of them. Normally I would just smile and shake everyone’s hand and all that, but I just couldn’t give a fuck about these people and how they knew each other and anything like that, so I stood off to the side and waited for her to ask for her bag so she could go with them. I enjoyed the breeze and I checked my phone. Finally she called me over and her friends were like wtf why are you just standing over there! Meanwhile she had just asked minutes ago why I never do what I want. So that was the thing I wanted, to not talk to these people. I was really fine with her leaving with them, very convenient escape for me, but I did not want to meet them all for no reason. But I did anyway because what kind of asshole would I have to be to hand her her bag and say goodbye and nothing else. So I shook hands with every single one of them. There were people she didn’t even know and I shook hands with them, too. One guy said now repeat our names back to us. I said, I value you guys as people but I don’t have a memory like that. Everyone thought that was funny. You had to be there. So now I look awesome. From weirdo to awesome in sixty seconds. After five excruciating minutes where everyone tried to pretend that we could have an inclusive conversation, they ask what’s up next. I hand my friend her bag and say goodbye, shaking hands with enthusiasm and warmth and real kindness in my eyes. Eight people I will never see again, now they all have a piece of my soul. The train just won’t seem to arrive.
This girl made me think. Why does that happen? There was a girl in Boston who made me think.
Sure I’m always thinking, but I’m usually thinking the same thing. Some variation of the same thing.
But in these two instances, all the lights in my head went on for a blinding few seconds. Then they went out with a hiss and I found myself on cold, damp, soft weird shit, just shivering there.
A neurotic mess: myself, but worse.
The first descent in darkness was interrupted with some real practical type shit. I got fired, so I had to find a job and make money fast and I’m no good at that. Working seven days a week saved me from suicide or enlightenment.
Then this most recent descent.
My inner life was cruising along at medium shitty, nice and comfy. Then I met her and the ride got bumpy. I thought, why these moments of transcendence, mixed with these hours of extreme neurosis and nausea?
I asked: why am I stuck in this marriage, why can’t I just do what I want, why don’t I ever do drugs or listen to music in the dark or jump off cliffs?
Then I found the answer to why I don’t do those things. It wasn’t because I’m married. It’s because I believe that life is stupid and pointless, and I believe that if it was designed, it was designed to fuck with me.
Ten years ago, when I found out Genesis didn’t really happen, I laughed and said, you’ll never fool me again, Culture. Society. White men in long robes. Fuck y’all. I bought a bottle of Chivas, like my new hero Hunter Thompson, and I went to fuckin town.
Ten years I believed in nothing. You don’t know! I said to everyone. You don’t know shit, none of you do because none of you can, and anyone that thinks they know anyone is deluding themselves. And more power to those assholes, because I’d love to be able to delude myself. But I couldn’t delude myself. I had seen the truth, and it was an abyss.
Ten years I worked in restaurants thinking that the reason I didn’t get out of it was that I wasn’t using my free time effectively.
Ten years and longer than that, I lied with abandon, fashioning a chameleon armor around my starving, angry soul to keep everything away, to keep alive in a world that couldn’t give a shit.
But how is it that these two girls broke in where others didn’t?
Probably something to do with sex and something else to do with my mother.
Gotta go, bitches. More later.
Spoiler alert: I still don’t believe, and I’m still married.