Why don't you go crawl back into the hole
you crawled out of, you pathetic shits.
Yesterday afternoon I had one of those "not getting along with your
roommate" things going on. So I decided to get out of the house for a
while and went down to The Elk down the street and had a few too many
Jack & 7s. But I did get into an interesting conversation, a rather long
one, with a guy named Mitch who was a farmer from western Washington.
We talked about farming, dairy farming, and as it seems to always happen
these days the situation with my health came up. I talk with people and
questions come up which I can't truthfully answer without mentioning the
whole medical thing. I guess that's when you know that something has a
central place in your life — when you can't avoid mentioning or talking
about it in even normal situations. In any case he gave me some words of
encouragement in favor of the whole heart transplant thing. I still am
leaning strongly against it, but it is always good to hear the other side
when making a decision.
After a number of drinks I got some sort of bee in my bonnet that I
wanted to go downtown. So a few minutes later Mitch kindly gave me a
ride down there and I found myself sitting at The Satellite drinking
Fiji water and lemon. I stuck a couple bucks in the juke box. And I drank
another Fiji water. At which point it occurred to me that there was no
reason to be there. Or even to be downtown. Upon which I grabbed a cab
and came home.
Overall it was a good night, though. Nothing weird happened. Which is
unusual lately. I didn't mention anything about it but the last two times
I've gone out I ran into some very irritating things slash people. On my
way to see the Spokane Symphony a while back I ran into a girl walking
along the sidewalk who as she passed me said "Ohhh, Jack the Ripper!"
Thanks honey. You brain damaged shit. And then after the opera last
Friday I had to duck into someplace while I called a cab, and ended up
at this bar that I will only call the Brain-Damaged Ale House and Grill.
Worse, it took two hours for a cab to arrive.
I've made some serious attempts lately to stop being so damn judgmental.
But so far it doesn't seem to be working too well. In fact sometimes I
feel I'm turning into the character of Gregory House on House. For
those who have never seen the show let's just say that Dr. House is
— well, not the most personable guy in the world. That's the best way
I can explain it.
There are those who say that it is not so much our environment that is
important as our reaction to it. I can't say I agree with that much. If
I'm standing at the executioner's block waiting to have my head cut off,
I don't think my "mental attitude" can do much about that.
Sometimes life just throws crappy things at you. And it's okay to feel
crappy about that.
We don't have to be perfect. I'm not perfect, and I shouldn't expect
other people to be perfect either. But you know, why, why do they have
to be so…so…
…oh, you know.
[NEXT WEEK: In which I become Anthony Bourdain and eat, drink, and
smoke myself into a frenzy.}