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Itís probably a good thing that Iím allergic to bleach. Ever seen that movie with that guy? Machine something or something machine? It had machine in the title and it was a weird movie with a weird guy who couldnít sleep and liked bleach. I can only begin to imagine half of the things I would do with bleach, one of them certainly being washing my hands with it. I think about it sometimes. Say, after throwing my trash in the dumpster at work I often contemplate dousing myself in bleach. Do I show signs of being a true neurotic?
The flu. Equivalent to the bubonic fucking plague. The amount of fluids egested from my body in one hurling episode would have astounded even the most complex minded individuals. I laughed in stark amazement as my mom covered her nose to empty my bucket for me. She couldnít see the humor.
I feel a bit better this morning, even after only falling asleep after 4am. Iím able to smoke a cigarette and drink coffee. Last night I drank water and it came back up before it even had a chance to warm in my stomach. I thought I was dying.
Everybodyís brains are wired differently because weíve all had different experiences. And even Siamese twins, say, who you would think have the same experiences still experience it differently because they are going to take the experience in differently. Theyíll have a different angle, for one thing. Nothing could ever be the same for two separate minds. I imagine that that is where a soul mate would fit into the equation. They would know what youíre thinking and often think the same? In reality Iím sure that itís very far and few in-between who really do meet their other half. Completion.
I need earplugs to wear in my room because the silenceful silence is never enough. My superman alarm clock hums in the loudest of fashions. Somehow I am the only one who can hear it. My cell phone buzzes wildly in my ear. Again, no one but me hears it. As-per-ger Syndrome. These noises and behaviors are only the tip of the iceberg. I did my honors project on this last year in order to figure out why I Donít have Aspergers. I could not figure it out. I still, a year later with much more knowledge, donít know why.
People like my photos. That is what we know for sure. People who donít have to like them; people who would tell me if they didnít like them; random people who donít have to tell me anything at all. Everyone. The consensus is straight across the board. This is not in my head. I can be a photographer. Photographer writer psychologist. Doctor photographer writer. I had no dreams or ambitions throughout life. Why in the world did it take a death for my world to change? For me to finally change. I miss him but know itís for the best.
How does the world carry on despite such emotional baggage? Memories are heavy. The worst ones are leaden. Then sometimes even the best ones are laced with steel alloys. All I know is that everyone keeps going. You stand beside the wreckage for a moment and then the moment is past. Where does it go? Onto your shoulders, or your already broken back. Today I miss the cat and the twenty years of friendship. I recognized the mixture of emotions surrounding him and what I/we have done. How could anyone forget? Could they so easily let it slip their minds?
I used to be a playa and I used to have game. Itís just been a really long time. So many lonely years. And Iím still so young! But right now I have the whole damn world in my hands. I got it all. And by all I simply mean girls. Loneliness was my downfall. That is where my years of self-loathing came from. It was, of course, cyclical. And my self-mutilation, Iíd hate to say this and donít know why I am, but, it was from extreme bouts of loneliness that seemed to intensify during the cold winter months.
There is only one thing better than a first kiss and that would be having it occur directly following hours spent falling for the person. We have plans for Thursday and I feel confident that I will indeed see her before then because we will most definitely be entering into that I-canít-wait-to-see-you phase. Such a lovely stage of any relationship. Ooo.. relationship. A long term relationship sounds beautiful Ė isnít that what we all seek? Beauty in this ugly world. This girl is fucking adorable. There was a definite feeling when our lips metÖ. Radiating
when we finally parted ways.
Me and the other one have had a crazy and strained ďrelationshipĒ since meeting, over two months ago. She was never a forever girl Ė only an idealized concept of what a forever girl should consist of. So why is it that now that Iíve found this real connection Iím still sitting here wishing it werenít snowing because I would have asked how high when the other one said to jump. It really was awkward though Ė texting with the other one while this one was here. I literally did it behind her back a few times, and I saw the irony.
I received a genuine twang of glee from looking over to camera resting on my desk and seeing itís dial set on manual. Off hand I canít remember the very last thing I photographed, but I do know that my father would have been proud. It might be a camera that ultimately saves me. Just knowing that he would be this enthused right alongside me. He probably is here, beside me. I feel him like electricity each time I slide on the power button. Power. My dad has a power over me. Grief no longer has a hold of me.
Hotel rooms can yield an unimaginable spectrum of found items. Itís easy to turn cleaning a room into a scavenger hunt. There are places that no one else looks and so by time I get to it it could be three or four checkouts who have been in the room since my last time in it. But, there are indeed times that you find something youíre better not knowing about. Tightly tied bags are one of these things. Curiosity makes you want to open it, but logic knows that the odds of finding money are slim to none. Even stillÖ
While brushing my teeth I heard a noise that I know I make every single morning when I do the same exact thing. Itís an annoying noise that I am aware of everyday. Iíve never known why it was so prominent or why I hated it so much. I do know that Iíve no control over any of it. But sometimes the randomness of the world will quietly reveal secrets that you never knew were hidden until found. It was my father. My dad used to make that noise every single time he brushed his damn teeth. I hated it.
I shoveled water and felt weird in the same exact way I feel weird when I chew ice cream and yogurt. There was some slush, equivalent to the little pieces of strawberries in the yogurt or cookie dough in the ice cream. Life is confusing. One minute I should be out there shoveling snow, and the next minute I actually am out there shoveling water. I guess itís like making the decision between vanilla ice cream or chocolate chip cookie dough. The chocolate chip being the dog poo I also shoveled along with some of the water and cookie doughs.
I see germs on a molecular level and that is why I am able to be so disgusted by such things as dirty soap. You may look at me like Iím insane, but that wonít keep me from worrying about these things. They arenít trivial. This is my health at stake here. Iíve no patience for sickness. It makes me a miserable bastard. And I surely canít work my labor intensive job if Iím ailing. Ailing? Does that fit there? If Iím ailing. You can ail, right? I know you can have ailments. But can you just ail? I wonder.
This month of writing has gone to hell. I canít write about the two things I wish to write about.
I donít wanna be a playa no more.
I donít chase Ďem I replace Ďem.
Seriously though, I donít know what Iím doing anymore. I donít know what I want. Having the best of both worlds is going to easily blow up in my face once I falter. And I will falter. Yesterday was nearly disastrous. This isnít me, or it isnít the me that anybody knows or understands. I donít want to hurt anyone. It just feels inevitable.
I donít want to be here today. Where? In my skin. Everywhere I go, there I am. Every night before I sleep, there you are. Every afternoon when I come home from work, she is there. There is no rest for the wearied. No solitude; no reprieve. I am so tired. Nothing but tired. Tired of getting up every morning. Tired of going to sleep each night. Tired of him being gone. Itís been long enough now. Come out of hiding, daddy. You win. Okay? Isnít that what you always loved to hear? You were right, we are all wrong.
I work in an environment full of inspiration. There are millions of stories traveling through those rooms. And I clean up after them, I see the mess they make, the way they live, and the refuse they leave behind. Digging for inspiration would be a dirty, filthy task, but I will always assume that it would be well worth it. The secrets that unfold could be innumerous. Even without the extra prying I still find enough strange items to strike just the right cords bringing me to many realizations of what these people could possibly be doing while staying there.
The main subject of all my photos was born with a camera in his face, literally. He gets it. He understands. The flash goes off and he knows what happened. Seeing the camera sets off a reaction of glee. My favorite part is when he wants to see the pictures. I canít imagine what he thinks of it all. But I know he knows. The true implications of his camera love was proven when I started taking pictures with my camera phone which has no flash. He had no idea for the longest time, until I showed him the outcome.
I feel like George on Seinfeld in relation to his relationship with Susan, most specifically during the season in which he asks her to marry him, then immediately regrets it, and then lives with it all the while knowing that he is utterly stuck. I canít believe that 44 word sentence is grammatically correct. I canít believe that I havenít yet memorized episodes of Seinfeld by their seasons. I know that the logo changed each year and so I only have to attach the logo to the season and I can easily learn the rest. Itís all about cognitive relations.
So. Um. Yeah. Um. Yeah. so. you know. As I was catching my breath I caught myself before asking her quite bluntly to be my girlfriend
As in, literally,
you have proven yourself. I will keep you around.
So, after processing this, I think I might as well do it. She's a nice girl. And I should do it soon, because, why not? Two nights in a row and she is still insatiable. She cannot get enough of me. I've never been stared at with such hungry eyes before. So why would I resist? What am I waiting for?
I can pretty much get away with anything. She wants to spoil me more than I can willingly allow. To push the issue I took her to the store with me to get a philly.. then went home and spent 45 minutes breaking up weed, rolling a blunt, and smoking a quarter of it while she laid on my bed with obvious eyes of passion. And after all was said and done, I felt fan-fucking-tastic: happy and giddy and smiley and fucking glowing. I could have conquered the universe. I was on top of the world. I had it all.
Wrongly accused of not taking out my trash or sorting my laundry. I hate shit like that. I don't like things I don't deserve and I don't like blame for something I didn't do unless I'm intentionally protecting someone else which is what I would have done if I were still in the job position that I was in. But now I don't care about the housekeepers. I'm just a regular housekeeper and it's a hell of a lot easier. Let her deal with all the bullshit. They are losing, I am winning. I will/have been making sure of that.
Itís six oíclock in the evening and it is not yet completely dark. The sky holds, off in the distance away from the cloud cover overhead, a brilliant blue with a hint of green. Iím reminded of eyes I once stared into. Full of something I could not get enough of. But now I stare into boring browns and am reminded that winter will come to an end. Summer will return. First will be my favorite season of all. And then will come my favorite moments in which I am giddy excited over the sound of melting snow and ice.
Iím a big fat cheater. Iím a big fat cheater. Iím a big fat cheater. Iím a big fat cheater. Iím a big fat cheater. Iím a big fat cheater. Iím a big fat cheater. Iím a big fat cheater. Iím a big fat cheater. Iím a big fat
. Iím a big fat cheater. Iím a big fat cheater. Iím a big fat cheater. Iím a big fat cheater. Iím a big fat cheater. Iím a big fat cheater. Iím a big fat cheater. Iím a big fat cheater. Iím a big fat cheater. Written nineteen times for atonement.
I wanted to write that it's going to be done after this month. Everything will be okay. It'll stay okay through to fathers day. It'll linger in my mind, but be okay until it gets weeks away. And that's a while from now.
The pain may never be old.
ĒI wonder if they bore it long Ė
or did it just begin Ė
I could not tell the date of mine Ė
it feels so old a pain Ė
I wonder if it hurts to live Ė
and if they have to try Ė
and whether Ė could they choose between Ė
it would not be Ė to die.Ē
Why did I think today was the 25th not the 26th? Perhaps because I canít believe the 27th is really going to come. I donít want to believe that itís tomorrow. The date crushes me, adding to my permanent bruise each year. But, at least this is the first year since he died that there is no overly prominent physical ailment to accompany this stress. It is probably due to the extreme lack of loneliness Iíve had all month. I wonder, I hope, is dad responsible for that? Is it God? Fate? I owe somebody my eternal debt of gratitude.
She held me while I cried and didnít try to have sex with me. It was really the sweetest thing ever. The thing I loved most was that she didnít stop to ask me what was wrong, why was I crying? She just let me, and she would hold me tighter. She wiped away tears. And I felt safe. Protected from everything but the cruel realities of life and death and all the intricacies of getting older. It takes someone special. And I think she has the staying power Iíve been secretly longing for. She can take care of me.
I so very greatly enjoy being alone with the guarantee of being undisturbed. Disruption, noise and chaos are the banes of my existence. I assure you that I have a low grade case of Asperger Syndrome. A squeaky wheel on a shopping cart can ruin my entire day. Someone who knows me well but leaves the radio on while we eat a dinner I am thoroughly NOT enjoying on my birthday is someone toward whom a silent grudge will be held. Tacked onto all the others. Do the people around me know me at all? Am I really all alone?
This is my last chance to decide not to post this month of twenty nine hundred words. Itís risky. It bothers me that I will have to always keep these words from her. It could kill me. I may die trying. I miss her when she goes away. I need her when sheís here. I appreciate her fully. But I am not worthy. I want too much and I get what I want. I see now how that happens even at the expense of others. Sometimes these things are unavoidable. Sometimes life throws in your lap all you ever needed.
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