xi – her me

  Today I bought a new lighter. Of course I have dozens in my apartment. In drawers. Under the couch. On my patio. But this one is special. This one has a decal of a monster on it that reminds me of a character from WOW. This one will be the one…

What’s that you say? This project was supposed to be 30 days of me describing the same thing over and over and I’ve pretty much done everything but that. Well aren’t you all high and mighty with your rules and such. **** you and your couch.

I’m Sorry.  You know I didn’t mean that. I just haven’t been myself lately.  

But really. I don’t give a **** about the rules. Let someone who does care wow you with their magical tales about inanimate objects or body parts. They’re the real show.  The true talent. Me, hell, I just wanted someone to talk to.

And look, I’ll make no apologies for who I am. What I say. My actions. Regardless of how I became ME the inescapable fact is that I am Me and I am not going to change. If you don’t like me, I won’t lose any sleep. Don’t take that wrong. I want you to like me. I always want everyone to like me. I’m just saying, I won’t lose any sleep if you don’t.

I only lose sleep over her. You know who I’m talking about. Her.

We have established have we not that I am in love with her. That I’m having a really **** hard time trying to remember how I lived without her. I also make no excuses for that. I feel the way I feel. And besides, it’s not like I beg you to come here and read this ****. If you don’t like me than go away.

Today I bought some lighter fluid. I don’t even know if I need it to be honest with you. But it was on the list. And I had the money, so…

Things got a little out of control yesterday with the whole lap-dance chapter. Oh no, don’t feel cheated, it was all totally real. It happened. Just not yesterday. It hasn’t happened in weeks to be exact. I’m starting to think it will never happen again. I’m starting to believe that it was all just a big dumb drunken mistake. On her part that is. Not on mine.

I mean, I can’t blame her right? We all have those lapses in judgment. We all have bad days, get ripped on liquor and do some stupid **** that we barely even remember but totally, totally regret. Right? Human nature.    

But do the same drunken mistakes happen over and over again?

****, of course they do. If they didn’t then people wouldn’t have their licenses taken away.

Deep sigh. It’s been so many days since I’ve seen her.

My last contact was taking a nap on her pillow. Can’t do that again. Too dangerous.

But I should have grabbed something when I left. I know…and I agree. I am not a thief. But maybe just something small. A sock. A hair tie. Anything that smells like her.

Right now, I have nothing. This apartment is so **** empty without anything of hers in it. Without her in it.  

Without her…it’s like non-existent.

Which makes me non-existent. Or at least makes me want to be.

Oh relax. I’m not that guy. Blood, while admittedly can be tasty, will not be flowing out of these veins anytime soon. And I don’t have any pills to OD on. Well, except for these mild aspirin. But five of those little **** don’t even dent a hangover. And I don’t know the first thing about how to get a gun. I mean, what do you do…stalk back alleys looking for shady characters?

‘Hey man, you got any guns for sale?’

****, I can’t even ask someone if they have pot for sale without breaking out in hives.

No, I can be non-existent in other ways.

I can just totally disappear. No one would ever know I was gone. You won’t ever have to read me again.

Wonder how she would feel about that? 

Good grief Charlie Brown. Like she cares.

I bought a new grill today. My old one was beat to hell. Sitting outside on the balcony for years. Eroded by the elements. And I never used it anyway. Not even sure why I still had the **** piece of ****. Maybe because I was supposed to? Because when you have a balcony and you live in a place where it is warm all year round you are expected to have a grill. So when you have people over you don’t get some **** going, ‘Hey man, are you telling me that you have a perfectly good balcony and no grill? I don’t get it dude? You could be grilling up some awesome burgers.’

I have to be socially acceptable. Right. 

What else do I have that I don’t need but have anyway because it’s expected of me?

A kitchen table. Never use that. Well, at least to sit at and eat. I use it as someplace to drop my keys and unwanted mail. I never even consider sitting at it. But can you imagine a dining room without it? I would be outcast from society.     

How about Mouthwash. I know, I know. But I never **** use it. Tastes like ****. But it’s there, in my medicine cabinet. Taking up valuable space. Just in case some chick ever comes over and decides to look in there. Can’t have her thinking I don’t use mouthwash now can I? That I’m a yuck mouth.

What about feelings? Love, for example. Is it possible that I only believe I am in love? Because that’s how society has taught me I should feel? 

****, pre-teens are told to fall in love by their pop culture icons. Then they grow up becoming more and more jaded with each immature and failed relationship. Sometimes they even have kids of their own and then those kids grow up doing the same thing. Because no one is perfect. Because everyone cheats. Everyone lies. Everyone always wants to **** the one they are not with.

But you would never know it by Hollywood’s standards. Love is all that matters. You gotta be in love man or you’re a nobody. You’re a loner. A loser. A cast off.

**** that. Love is a farce. True love doesn’t exist. Not like it does in those movies. Not like it does in Britney Spears songs.

Oh who am I kidding?  It does exist in this apartment. I swear it. Maybe not in this little brain of mine…but definitely in this big heart.

Charcoal isn’t as cheap as it used to be. Probably because now it comes with some new age technology **** that helps idiots like me light it with the mere flick of a bic.

So much for the fluid purchase. Maybe I can find another use for it.

I think I’m going to write her a letter. You see, I’ve told her before how I feel. When I’m all **** faced and she’s all shitfaced. Thing is, I remember. I don’t know if she does.   Because we don’t talk about things like that when we are sober. Actually, we don’t really talk about them when we are drunk either. It makes her uncomfortable and frankly, I don’t ever want to do anything that would cause her to decide to not come back.

But I did do that didn’t I?

Maybe she does remember how I feel and she is avoiding me?

Maybe it’s because I asked her to leave that one night. I am such a **** IDIOT!

Or maybe it’s just because she’s done with me. I’ve served my purpose.

And what was that?

To make her feel better about herself. To make **** suck face mother **** d-bag boyfriend jealous.

No. Dammit. She’s not like that.

She has to feel something for me.

That one night, as we drove back from the concert. She reached out in silence. And she held my hand.

It was the most intimate sensation I’ve ever felt. The most heartwarming. The most love.

I swear to you my brother and sisters, as I felt her tiny fingers embrace mine, for the first time in my miserable life, I actually contemplated the existence of god.          

I should just go ahead and get that grill going now. It’s getting late. It’s been so many days. It’s getting beyond recognition. Beyond comprehension. Beyond simple excuses and lies.

I’ve been made a fool of for the last time.

Where is that lighter.