Journal Entries
Make a Grown Man Cry
Posted Feb 22, 2003
I just wanted to take a break for my day to whine a little about how things are going at the moment. Mostly because no one else would bother to listen to me, and at least here no one will read this or tell me to shut up halfway through.
I have been trying to do the job of two men for over three weeks now as one of my co-workers has apparently, finally stepped into the void of amphetamine addiction. Not that he has been much of a presence since Christmas. He stopped by two days ago and had severe tremors and was semi-incoherent. He gave his two week notice and I've been left holding up his end and mine. I have been working 6 days a week 12 hour days, no breaks, no lunch, and it's non-stop for the forseeable future. I have been doing the same thing for nearly 8 years now and have seen a dozen men (and one woman) come and go, burned up by the unrelenting pressureof trying to make the shop run. Now it's just me and Tony, with whom I have had a running battle to ruin one-another's career for almost a year now. I feel alienated from the rest of the guys, who are unaffected by the recent turn of events, and are depending on me to keep everything going, to keep the money coming in.
My body is wearing down, I haven't been to the gym in a week. I literally feel myself winding down. The money should be making up for it, 17K in six weeks. But I'm too tired to even think about going out or anything. Top that off with the fact that I'm moving of the 15th, and I almost feel sorry for myself.
Well enough crying about my lot for now. I'll erase this later, when I have recuperated after having Sunday off.
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Latest reply: Feb 22, 2003
Taxes
Posted Feb 17, 2003
I just wanted to state for the record, I did my part to try to starve the war machine. After calculating my 02 taxes, I discovered I only gave 9 cents of every dollar I earned to the war machine we call Washington. Not bad for being in the 27% bracket. I'll redouuble my efforts to make it even less this year. Better that anyone should have it than the war machine.
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Latest reply: Feb 17, 2003
Quitting
Posted Feb 14, 2003
"I don't want to go anymore."
"What do you mean, school?"
"Yeah, I've been going for a year now, and, you know. I just can't do anything for more than a year. What's that look you're giving me? Oh, I don't mean you."
I could feel myself getting mad about it. I wonder if she knows,how I get up most mornings wondering if I can get through the day. If she knows that I feel like my life ended years ago and now I live for other people. People that count on me, can't survive without me. People like her. "You've got no idea, what.." I trail off.
"You're mad aren't you?"
"No. I just don't get it."
"I wrote you a note. What's not to understand? Can't you see how close I am to snapping?"
"If only it were that easy. What do you want to do instead?"
"Nothing."
"Nothing? What do you mean nothing, sit in front of the t.v. watching courtroom dramas all day?"
"No, I don't watch those anymore."
"Then what the hell are you going to do?" I can feel my voice rising. I am losing my patience, and I know if I push to hard she'll just stop talking and run off. I take a deep breath. "What do you want? Are you depressed?"
"No, I just am tired of feeling stupid. I don't know what I want to do anymore. I just know it's not this."
"That is unacceptable! We're married here, don't you see? Can't you see? It's all on my back, always! I just thought that maybe you were participating, that you could join in. Get your degree, get a decent job. Maybe..." She's not in the room anymore. I am left talking to myself.
I think back to when I didn't know where my life was going, when everything seemed more fluid. I thought about how I'd have the career driven wife and the half million dollar house. The kids in pivate school, and my friends over for barbeques every weekend. I look and see how it's become just us. How she avoids me. Avoids talking or looking at me anymore. I wonder when it started, did I even notice. I think I was at the gym, or at work.
I wonder if she's like her mother. Sleeping through her life, ready for the drugs and therapy sessions that will fill her time away from me. I wonder whether I am disloyal for wondering if I made a mistake. I find myself replacing her for a few moments with the dream I had built in mind of her all those years ago.
Then I realize, it's not my call to make. And I walk upstairs to tell her. "Hey beautiful."
"What do you want?"
"I just wanted to tell you, I'm cool with whatever you decide. If you're done, you're done. No problem. Just tell me, are you all right?"
"I'm fine. I just don't want to go to school anymore."
"And you want to do nothing."
"Yeah, nothing."
I nod and bite my tongue.
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Latest reply: Feb 14, 2003
Gods and Monsters
Posted Feb 6, 2003
A long time ago...I was hanging out with one of those wild girls you see on the street in those art house/bohemian sections of town by the name of Elaine. She was beautiful in a classic sense, very Nordic features and skin a shade lighter than you imagined people came in. Her eyes were barely tinted blue, like some kind of Aryan genetic experiment brought to life. She was also pierced through and through, her left eyebrow, nose, lip, tongue, breasts, belly button, c**t, just a full array. This was about '94, so all that was high fashion then. Needless to say, I wanted to get to know her well, but standing in my way was her boyfriend of 4 years. He was a Glenn Danzig clone with even the voice a perfect match. His biggest distinguishing feature was a missing index finger on his left hand, cut off at the second knuckle. It turns out he had cut it off himself as a tribute to a Pre-Satanic force he worshipped and believed held sway over his day to day existence. I happened to not believe in much, similar to my present state. But after a party at my apartment one night, he nearly had me convinced that I should start my own religion. We sat out on my patio the three of us negotiating my visitation rights with his girlfriend in what can only be described as a normal evening in Los Angeles. I only remember part of it in any detail, the reason will be clear.
"Did Elaine ever tell you about the time I tried to appease Satan while we were making love?"
"Oddly enough, no, I don't think it came up."
"I had my knife," pulling a long, ornate blade from his leather jacket. "And I was letting some of both of our blood, using thin slices in the forearm, like this." He proceeds to cut himself.
"You want a towel or something?"
"No, I'm good...it gets good here. So, I'm sitting like this." He leans over, sitting crosslegged on my picnic bench, blood running down his arm. "Only I'm naked, see. And after I cut Elaine, I start to open myself...and then the knife. See, it's got a mind of it's own. It likes the taste of blood. And it can see my dick, erect in front of it."
At this point I am too shocked to reply. Elaine is sitting casually by like she's heard this story a thousand times before. I grin at him, and light a cigarette.
"The next thing I know, it's cut right through the head and I'm bleeding badly. I drop the knife and try to wrap myself in the sheet, holding pressure on it." He drops the knife and grabs his crotch. "Now I'm bigger than your average man; I've got about nine inches...and it's thick. So I'm worried that it won't stop on it's own, so Elaine and I dress and head to the emergency room."
"How are you gonna explain it, when you get there right?" I find a way to spit out. I don't know if I can bear to know.
"No, listen, it gets good here." He turns, "Elaine you tell him."
"Well, we get to the hospital and they rush him right in. They see the cuts on his arm and they think 'suicidal' case. But they get him in and start stitching him up while I try to distract them."
"Eleven stitches, across the crown. That was nifty." The last word resonates as he puffs out a cloud of smoke at me. "I manage to convince them that it was a religious ceremony and that I slipped while performing sacred rights, so they let me go afterward."
"I haven't been in the same bed as that knife with him since." She doesn't seem as relieved as I would imagine.
"Yeah, the knife's got a mind of it's own."
The knife has since come to rest in front of me, and seems content to stay that way, so I offer no restistance. "Looks like a serious knife." I observe.
"So you want to see the scar?"
"No, no, really, it's scary enough to visualize without aids."
"I think I need a beer, how about you?" He rises and goes in as I nod and flick my cigarette off the balcony.
"You know why he told you that story, don't you?"
"Because he's really friendly? Has no sense of boundaries? Is drunker than me?"
"No, it's because you make him nervous. He figures it's an easy way to let you know he's got a big dick."
"Oh. What's he nervous about?"
She just smiled, and looked away.
I would eventually steal Elaine away long enough for her to be stolen from me. And I even got her back again briefly.
I ended up being friends with the man, Dave, and his scarred penis until he died a few years later. It was a scuba diving accident in Costa Rica of all things. Maybe he was suicidal.
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Latest reply: Feb 6, 2003
K
Posted Jan 28, 2003
You have to keep your shoulders loose. The man on first is going to stay right there, because in the stretch, you're just staring at him. You get the sign, although, you're not sure if you can throw a third strike fastball past this guy. You're tired, your arm feels like jello, and just how many people have you walked today? So you grab the seams, almost making fist, and try to squeeze the life out of the ball as you pull the glove into your chest. As you twist back,the baserunner is gone, but it doesn't matter. All that matters is squeeze and release, pushing off with all you've got in the back leg, pivoting on the front, rolling through your back, as your arm comes across your shoulder, sidearm, elbowing leading till it snaps the last part of the whip. A crackle goes through your wrist as you force every bit of top spin you can muster. Sometimes, they break, in the last ten feet or so, if your velocity and spin allow the rules of physics to take over. That's usually in warm up and maybe for the first couple of batters. But late in the game, it's just a matter of fooling that batter, and hoping it goes by him fast enough that he doesn't have a chance to adjust his swing. If the gods smile on you it's a strike out. If they don't, it's a two run homer.
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Latest reply: Jan 28, 2003
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