My least favorite sound is the generic Iphone alarm, because it crudely informs me every morning that I did not, unfortunately, die in my sleep.
I let it go on for thirty minutes every morning. I like to torture myself, I guess.
When my feet hit the floor, I'm surprised I don't crash through the floorboards. I have to remind myself that although I feel like I weigh a thousand pounds, I only weigh 250. I wish I didn't know how much I weigh, but urgent-care nurses just love to say it out loud. Even if I'm obviously shutting my eyes so tight it hurts. I have got to stop getting bronchitis.
Sometimes I wish I lived in the 70's so it would be acceptable to smoke inside. Can you be allergic to sunlight? These are my thoughts as I step outside to smoke the first of many Marlboro Red 100's today. I never finish the whole thing but I continue to buy the longs. I think about burning myself and then I don't and then I wish I did.
I never understood religion but I do understand ritual. When my Moka pot starts to bubble over I wonder if I could boil the muck out of me, too.
I cannot remember the last time I wore anything but shorts, an oversized button down, and a ball cap. I own lots of shorts. I have lots of button ups. It is always the same hat and it is her hat. The same platform converse and those are mine. I always wear platform shoes despite being 5'11''.
(Being one inch shy of six feet is one of my many, many failures.)
I ride a rented e-bike to work. I make 70,000 dollars a year and I have not yet bought a bike. I am genuinely spending money for no reason. I refuse to make my life easier.
I do not know why.
I manage people who make bagels for eight hours. I exist in my body for none of them. I cry on the ride home and listen to the same two songs I always do.
I stop at the same dive bar and order the same queso and stare at the same bartender. He isn't attractive, but if he asked me to take my clothes off, I would. I don't drink but I spend a lot of time in bars. Being close to things I shouldn't do makes me feel stronger. That was a lie.
I walk home even though it is 100 degrees and very far. I unlock my door and sit on my couch and offer my ankles to the fleas that live in my rug. I do not feel it, and also it feels good. What is an itch if not your body begging to be touched?
I watch porn that should disgust me. I cum so fucking hard. I cry.
I smell like eggs and I do not shower. I look at men online. I pick one and he comes over and he fucks me hard and I do not like it and I pretend I do. He asks me if I came and I say yes because I technically did earlier when I was by myself. I cannot help but remember that this is the same bed where she told me she was ready to marry me. I cry. He asks why and I ask him to leave. He fucks me again. He leaves.
There is a stranger's cum on my stomach and I sleep anyway. I tell myself I will shower in the morning and I know I will not. I have a nightmare about being raped. I cry. I am asleep and I cry anyways and I have never been able to escape anything in my life. I wake up at 3am to pee and hit my vape and I see myself in the mirror and I think about how I haven't taken my meds in months but I keep refilling the prescription anyways and there are so many bottles and so many pills. They are right behind the mirror and I want to grab them but my arms suddenly do not work. My body betrays me even when I want to give it what it wants.
I fall asleep knowing I will wake up.