see how much I love technology?!
done and done. No more texters for me. Isn’t this violence against humanity’s need to communicate? As long as I can access library and this macbook is running I can send email daily. I have to write my homotopy sphere paper. The other beef is with starbucks, Megan quit there, I found a cup in lost and found on campus, a starbucks thermos cup with nice heating retention. The coffee in it is 3.41cents and a large is 2.35 cents. So I buy the large and pour into the thermos and produce more waste to save myself one dollar, which I take to the dollar store to buy dollar items. The Age of Stupid!
One sided love affair with my books. They teach me so much about being right. I follow the rules and every move perfect I win. Or better yet I share the wins. Together we were nothing but a menace. Alone I forget things. I said, you know Pauline? I am really the messiah. I opted to crucify myself. And we’d laugh…
I was in her apartment, a cheap fucking apartment with no running water but the garden hose in back hard that can be hung in the shower. She did something about the shrinkage. Don’t you think this is a bit too much for a sunday morning. I would lay my fatness in bed and would ask me about algebraic topology and I felt more alone. Not a human in sight understands the complexity of this technical subject, if you think string theory is tough. Try applied algebraic topology to string theory with anomaly cancellations. And we’d laugh. We took the bb gun too shots from the washroom at the passing cars. and we’d laugh. I would then eat high calorie sardines with cheese and black coffee and this is past noon. Up all night reading Waldon. She read that; I read Donaldson’s four manifolds. I have no use for literature. It is beneath me. I read too much. I thought I should kill myself. I thought maybe not I am too old. I said “Pauline, we are too old!. Only lonely old people kill themselves. We are not lonely.” Then the door swung open and it was Thomas. I chickened out and pushed him outside and she screamed something in Gaelic. I kept kicking him when he was down. Then he ran away and heard myself yell something about “she my woman now, Thomas, you best not return.” That’s my story and I’m sticking to it.
I went down to the corner stoner grocery store and got fried chicken. I ate one and watched something on the news. She cried again and boiled water to take a warm bath. I worked at the incorporated company for my reserve, it was huge. I was clean-n-scrub man. Alfred, the CEO’s clean-n-scrub man. I would hear him in full force in there once a day. I came home and stank of Alfred and took the garden hose and watered myself with old spice body wash. I ate my bread given to me by Alfred instead I wanted to be dead. I thought we paid for bread. We sat in the kitchen with a single light bulb hanging like a suicide man. She called god Caroline. This light bulb was caroline and Pauline prayed to it each day and each day she did she didn’t go hooking for crack or down. I took my suit and bused to work at 545 number two for 45 min and I sat in the office and changed into clean-n-scrub real work clothes. I had lied to her saying I have an office job as she read The Glass Menagerie. I told her later I was already married to someone from high school. I also worked at the KillerWhaletank, uh. I could feel the cold water running over my private parts. This is the mind of a year sobriety and it gets stranger.
Filed under: alcoholism, Depression catatonia, Fiction, Memory loss, Novel, Photography, Poetry, Story
