Getting drunk doesn’t hold the same appeal to me that it once did. Not right now. It doesn’t seem to work. I just ache and get sleepy. It’s depressing. How am I supposed to self-medicate when the medicine only adds to the misery?
Musette and I got beers from the Millennial Market. It was one of the only places that was open. I figure the people that run it live above it. We bought a lot of junk food too. I’m sure it doesn’t add to my overall happiness. Maybe if I ate better, the alcohol would have a nicer effect on me. I’m getting high on food, which disgusts me. The side effects are the ones that I find least attractive. Diabetes and weight. It hasn’t hit me yet. I’m knocking on wood, praying that it never does.
The whole time we were out there trudging through the snow, I am grumpy. I’ve become such a negative force within this relationship. It’s so hard to keep fighting constantly even though I know that I’ve got the hand of the princess of princesses in mine. Every move hurts. It feels like college again. It feels the way it’s felt my whole life. Maybe I already have diabetes. Maybe I’ve had it for a while now.
I just want to masturbate, vape, and feel like I’m doing something worthwhile. I’ll even cut the vaping, just help me find the pilot light. Cutting out the signal on my game is not enough. I’m lacking the motivation. I’m lacking spirit.
Yeah, you could say that I’m wasting my time, but it’s the night again. At least the snow has stopped, and the ceiling isn’t creaking anymore. Grimro was online. I joined his fireteam but couldn’t talk because Musette was asleep in the bed behind me. It’s okay. There was someone else in the team with him already. They talked nonstop back and forth with each other while I silently listened. Sometimes, when I had to cough, I would cover my microphone with my hand. I didn’t want them thinking that I was creepy. I don’t know why that matters. I shouldn’t care what they think of me. Maybe I’d just rather not deal with it, but I wish that I didn’t even worry about dealing with it if that’s what the worry is.
My wife told me that she was going to put her notice in at work today. Today was also the day that four people came into the pipe shop to be interviewed. The first person was a girl who had piercings on her face. Her smile portrayed hints of her orgasm. Certainly there were a lot of nerves at work. She’s new to the area. She just moved to New York from Milwaukee. Her resume is impressive. There are a lot of customer service jobs and volunteer positions. I’ll be surprised if she’s up for Ulric’s three day unpaid training regiment. But desperate times call for desperate measures. This is a tough city to survive in. People usually take what they can get until they can get more. This girl deserves more. She’s younger than me, but we are on different paths. I’m the person who cleans dead mice out from behind filing cabinets. That’s what I tell Linda after she tells me about the dead rat that she had found bloated and exploded, festering in the basement which her and Ulric were sleeping in at the time of the shop’s construction…
Continued at: MOLOKO HOUSE — An Opening by Appropouture
It’s all I’ve been reading recently, Celine. It’s all I want to read anyways. It’s all I care for besides myself, whom, as I’ve mentioned, I work specifically to fill the niche that I’ve been itching for amongst others. Ralph Manheim’s translations being the ones that I look most forward to because he really seems to get a good grasp on the writer, wrangling Celine’s personality to the forefront, making it feel like I’m spending time with him when I read him, which is what I want: someone to be proud of spending time with.
Which is what I want for you as well with me. Which is why the first thing that I do when I wake and the last thing that I do at night before hitting the hay is slapshot myself hard and raw against my notepad calling it a first draft, building myself a castellation of cards to play as a way to primp before publication. You could call it a press because I’m pressing these images, moments, vignettes together, applying filters, adding distortion, observing the squozen thought from multiple angles, through multiple sets of eyes, looking for places to squeeze the image into something further beyond myself.
I think that’s healthy. It makes the writing better for you as an audience, myself included in that category. It’s my job to provide you with nourishment. I want you to trust me with your time. Let me be a reliable source. We are all together in this, combining our products to produce the grand epic, bound together within this book of many authors. It can be very fulfilling. That’s why I always do my best to bring my contribution to a passable state of cohesion and consistency because I want to be here for you. I want to be something that you can rely on and look forward to. I’ve got these projects that I’m working on, pushing them into higher chapters of themselves, further solidifying them into more accessible forms, but there are no guarantees that I’m doing well though I try hard to hold my focus steady through the pugnaciousness of my aching back, right there in the middle of my shoulders, threatening to tear this thing apart like a plothole of weariness, like as though it’s that devil of The Lord squeezing into my muscles, getting in the way of addiction, trying to get me to better rise to my position of defeatism. Remember like how I said this is my job? So let me do it. We all signed up for this in our own way. I autodidact from a school priding itself upon the connection made with the audience. That’s why I stay up late on nights like tonight, tearing myself in two with Musette understanding that she’d still like more from me, but that we’re okay where we are right now because this is a big dream and a risky one with high reward.
My wife put in her notice today at work. She tells me that she told her employer that she is moving back to Utah to start a family. I told her that I was planning on telling my boss that the reason we are moving back is to be with our families. This doesn’t make her happy. She says that I need to support her in this fantasy that we are manifesting into our reality through the doors of these notices…
Continued at Talking Book