Dyspepsia
I don't even know how to smoke anymore.
I hit with my diaphragm instead of my lungs.
I don't know how to drink anymore.
I don't go to bars.
I tell myself I hate drinking and I'm always so fucking tired.
For four months, my car's been parked on the side of the road with flat tires and a kicking-the-horse kind of dead battery.
Do I spend money on a new battery? Or do I transfer $370 toward my one long overdue student loan repayment? Or do I spend some money on that federal student loan repayment that's becoming long overdue too? I did some financial overviewing today and I didn't give a shit about what I saw. Tomorrow I'll have something like $76 in my checking account. Whatever, it might as well be ten; all I want to do is be surrounded by trees.
Why's everyone such a fucking pussy?
I mean, I am. I'm scared. I'm scared of uncomfortable, awkward bullshit. I'm scared of meeting people. I'm scared of being caught in the rain without a jacket. I'm scared of getting drunk and spending money on a cab. But what the fuck? Why the fuck should I be scared of that? Why should we be scared of that? We all are, aren't we?
Why don't we challenge ourselves anymore? Why don't we push each other to accomplish great things? Why aren't we creating things? Beautiful things. Why are we so concerned about where the bunny's cage is? Why are we so caught up on having too many different cartons of eggs in the fridge?
We just bought a fucking dog. We bought the dog; companionship. The kind that ruins shoes and shits in the middle of the dining room floor.
The girl I want to be in love with invited me to watch her model tonight. Tickets can be purchased for $8 at the door, and a clothing donation gets you a drink wrist band that warrants deals on PBR and Hypnotique cocktails. I'd rather she and I line up a day off and go to the mountainside for some hiking. Do I really want to be in love with her or do I just want to photograph her with the Polaroid 101?
Why did I think working at an organic grocery store would make me happy. I got my healthcare today, at a mere $10 a paycheck. A free cookie, today, too.
Good for me, right?
Work tomorrow and Sunday, but not Monday. Except I work Lime Monday. Then a double on Thursday, and then Sunday, but then Monday I work at Lime again. When the fuck am I going to stand on the fucking mountainside.
I want to hit a line drive back at the pitcher. I want him to drop to the ground, tumble--maybe--off the side of the mound. I want to bend wide at first, looking at the third base coach directly. I want to slide hard into the hot corner, and I want to steal home on the next pitch. I want to throw my helmet against the back wall of the dugout and I want to knock over the cooler and the Dixie cups and I want to walk out the other side of the dugout, pull a handful of dandelions out of the ground and throw them into the air and then I want to throw a bat into the space between here and the parking lot and then I want to jump into the lake and swim across and when I come out of the water on the other side I want to board an airplane and then jump out of it at 11,000 feet or whatever and when I land I want to hit a home run and just watch the ball from the second it jumps off the bat and just watch it until I can't see it anymore, and I don't think I'd bother running the bases after all that, and I don't think I'd give a damn if the umpire called me out or ejected me from the game or anything like that.
The milk man came to the front door this afternoon. He told me they get their milk from local farms along the front range and they don't use any growth hormones or antibiotics and throughout the warm months the cows are nothing but grass fed. I laughed--because, come on--and agreed there's something to be said about local milk.
"And eggs! Do you eat eggs? You'll never have fresher eggs than ours. The hens lay them, and then we put them on the truck that night and they're on your doorstep the next morning."
And I thought maybe that would be a nice thing to be a part of, wouldn't it? Just a bunch of local farmers and their cows and chickens and fresh dairy delivered to your doorstep by the milk man every Thursday.
I don't know. I think it's probably a good thing I don't have a baseball bat today.
I hit with my diaphragm instead of my lungs.
I don't know how to drink anymore.
I don't go to bars.
I tell myself I hate drinking and I'm always so fucking tired.
For four months, my car's been parked on the side of the road with flat tires and a kicking-the-horse kind of dead battery.
Do I spend money on a new battery? Or do I transfer $370 toward my one long overdue student loan repayment? Or do I spend some money on that federal student loan repayment that's becoming long overdue too? I did some financial overviewing today and I didn't give a shit about what I saw. Tomorrow I'll have something like $76 in my checking account. Whatever, it might as well be ten; all I want to do is be surrounded by trees.
Why's everyone such a fucking pussy?
I mean, I am. I'm scared. I'm scared of uncomfortable, awkward bullshit. I'm scared of meeting people. I'm scared of being caught in the rain without a jacket. I'm scared of getting drunk and spending money on a cab. But what the fuck? Why the fuck should I be scared of that? Why should we be scared of that? We all are, aren't we?
Why don't we challenge ourselves anymore? Why don't we push each other to accomplish great things? Why aren't we creating things? Beautiful things. Why are we so concerned about where the bunny's cage is? Why are we so caught up on having too many different cartons of eggs in the fridge?
We just bought a fucking dog. We bought the dog; companionship. The kind that ruins shoes and shits in the middle of the dining room floor.
The girl I want to be in love with invited me to watch her model tonight. Tickets can be purchased for $8 at the door, and a clothing donation gets you a drink wrist band that warrants deals on PBR and Hypnotique cocktails. I'd rather she and I line up a day off and go to the mountainside for some hiking. Do I really want to be in love with her or do I just want to photograph her with the Polaroid 101?
Why did I think working at an organic grocery store would make me happy. I got my healthcare today, at a mere $10 a paycheck. A free cookie, today, too.
Good for me, right?
Work tomorrow and Sunday, but not Monday. Except I work Lime Monday. Then a double on Thursday, and then Sunday, but then Monday I work at Lime again. When the fuck am I going to stand on the fucking mountainside.
I want to hit a line drive back at the pitcher. I want him to drop to the ground, tumble--maybe--off the side of the mound. I want to bend wide at first, looking at the third base coach directly. I want to slide hard into the hot corner, and I want to steal home on the next pitch. I want to throw my helmet against the back wall of the dugout and I want to knock over the cooler and the Dixie cups and I want to walk out the other side of the dugout, pull a handful of dandelions out of the ground and throw them into the air and then I want to throw a bat into the space between here and the parking lot and then I want to jump into the lake and swim across and when I come out of the water on the other side I want to board an airplane and then jump out of it at 11,000 feet or whatever and when I land I want to hit a home run and just watch the ball from the second it jumps off the bat and just watch it until I can't see it anymore, and I don't think I'd bother running the bases after all that, and I don't think I'd give a damn if the umpire called me out or ejected me from the game or anything like that.
The milk man came to the front door this afternoon. He told me they get their milk from local farms along the front range and they don't use any growth hormones or antibiotics and throughout the warm months the cows are nothing but grass fed. I laughed--because, come on--and agreed there's something to be said about local milk.
"And eggs! Do you eat eggs? You'll never have fresher eggs than ours. The hens lay them, and then we put them on the truck that night and they're on your doorstep the next morning."
And I thought maybe that would be a nice thing to be a part of, wouldn't it? Just a bunch of local farmers and their cows and chickens and fresh dairy delivered to your doorstep by the milk man every Thursday.
I don't know. I think it's probably a good thing I don't have a baseball bat today.