Home is where the heart is, and I want you to feel at home when I’m online Who’s going to accept that I just want to be alone without enduring loss? It’s got to be true. I have to give up so much. It’s the holding on that’s turning me terrible.

Help the dad out of his hole. That’s all that I’m asking. I’ve got to wake up out of my slump. I’m missing the birth of my child

Hey, shake it off, brother. Other people have got problems. They don’t want to hear you bitching and moaning about the same old shit. You’re supposed to be our hero. The dancing clown. Lights in his eyes and children in his sights. Make us laugh more, bibles. You’re so funny. Honestly, you’re, like, the funniest writer I know. So witty. So crisp. So clear. So ice cold and brutal.

It’s talk like that that helps me overcome my Destiny. Helping me wake up, face the day which has me not at work yet, surprisingly, but here, with my family, who is awake, surprisingly, the reason being that we’ve got to go, like I said, and put an IUD in my wife (as I called her).

I’ve got so much work to do. Wouldn’t it be nice if this could be the thing, the way the day progresses. I’m here, in the glider, coming to you with what’s going on currently while making trips to the basement, reanimating a dead body, the past, another life, that which it was, the road that she came in on.

She’s still alive. And, I mean, she seems fine by all accounts that I can reckon with. The two of us, my wife and I, are pretty well good in agreeance that she suffers from acid reflux. It’s something that I have to deal with, and the fact that Musette was dealing with it while pregnant only adds to this theory.

The water is getting turned off any moment now. It’s nine twenty three here. It was supposed to be turned off at nine. We’ve got some saved up around the apartment. The dog’s got some in his bowl. My wife’s got the pumping parts cleaned, and the plates are in good shape. It’s going to be off until five pm. That’s what they say. They are putting in a soft water pipe.

There’s construction out front of the store as well. Something to do with Google Fiber. Having to move the lines. There were trucks blocking our parking lot for a while yesterday, and I, like a brave boy, a strong boy, a manager, someone with some sway in this world and a ball in his sack, went out and asked how long they were going to be there.

Only just another minute, sir. I know that we’re not supposed to be here. Only just another minute.

Okay, I said. Not telling them to move, or never to do it again, or that we’d be calling the city or the superstar gay city councilman who was good friends with “my wife” and who now makes humus with “his husband.”

I just said, that’s good, only another minute is fine.

This is the guy that you’ve come to fall in love with. Love him or hate him, this is the kind of stuff that he says to a bunch of hard hat wearing bulky buddies. This is how he stands up for the store. It’s no wonder we’re falling behind the bottom line with spineless shrimps like me carrying the weight.

There are only six of us total, and who do you think will be the first to go? Who’s got two dependents and difficult to define job responsibilities?

I haven’t even got the totes listed on ebay. My boss keeps burying me in returns. It’s my plan to get better at this, now that I’m back, I tell him. I want it to be a very organic system. I don’t want to do away with consignments. It’s always been my mission to bolster the local lit scene. I want to turn the place into a countercultural hub, but it’s a little tough when any experimentation with the shop’s music or the types of books that we bring in is met with such reserve and conservatism.

Old Ben is of two decades ago. He’d shut off Nirvana. He didn’t even want me playing Yardbird’s radio, even though he has told me that they are his favorite band. He’d met Abby Hoffman, but he refused to go on television with him. Signed a copy of “Steal this Drug Test” but wishes it had been “Steal this Book”.

This is why we need to fire these people. We’ve got to save the ship. I am not the heaviest weight on board. It’s true, and we all know it. We are misrepresenting our morals here. The sails are turning against us. The water is running up and over our ankles. At least I’m here, where I’m supposed to be, doing what I’m supposed to do, coming to you smack dab against the face, in the present, a representation of the current moment, contemporary, fresh and countercultural. This is what I’ve been talking about this whole time. This is what I’ve been saying.

Posted in Lit

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