Another random page of typewriter
I lay quivering in a ball waiting with the phone in my hand for a text from a girl that is not very much interested in me. But a text is some small stimulation, some minute recognition of my existence by the outside world.
I wait for three beeps from my phone to tell me that I exist. Otherwise, in the fading sunlight leaving this room, I might not. I'm not sure that I'm real. I have lost myself in a cold basement. I fear death intensely. I fear somebody looking me in the eyes. I exhibit all the clinical symptoms of depression, and the classic signs of an angel fallen from grace, the subconscious metaphor of a sinner in the fires of Hell, still I keep falling. And waiting.
Tomorrow I think. Tomorrow everything will change. Perhaps someone does love me. Perhaps I am not the most grotesque slimy wart-infested, oozing puss-filled bag of sperm to draw its fetid breath. Maybe it's not necessary to hate myself quite so much.
Even my depression contributes to my embarrassment. I'm tired of it. Tired of feeling sorry for myself and typing precious ink into despicable bodies of text. (I need a scanner.)
Surely inside me there must be a light. Surely there are still a few seeds waiting to bloom. I find no evidence to support these assertions. My pineal gland has withered. Surely I have failed. Failure clings to me like a wet blanket that I can't shake off. I have failed more things than anyone else I know. The variety and depth of my experience with failure might surprise some of my lesser known acquaintances in life. Religion, science, war, academics, journeys, vocations, sonship, brotherhood, husbandry, vengeance and love- I've etched them all with my broken carving knife of failure.
I have no prospects. I am dead in the water. I don't want to starve and I don't want to compete. So I will starve.
My kidney hurts. I have a terrible case of athlete's foot. And a toothache. I'm slowly decaying into dust. I wish everyone would stop trying to be nice to me and just let me rot in peace. I wish the sun would never rise again. I want to stop time to savor this perfect moment of misery.
Maybe I'll just make something hot to eat and go to bed early.