14.2.09

Words That Kill

Friday night. My friend/supervisor (at this point, Pookie, whose thug name conveys nothing but fear, felt his heart skip a beat as rage filled his eyes), had a nice conversation over nachos, beer and soda. I decided that since I've been sick and throwing up a lot of my food, super spicy nachos and tacos would kill my stomach. And they did.

Lost another pound. Four this week.

As always, we had a great conversation. She's good people. She'll stab you, but she's good people.

Around two that morning I received a phone call from a local friend who had just read my blog for the first time in two weeks or so. I was slightly tired, but she kind of gave me the riot act.

Her: Don't you believe in destiny?

Me: No.

Her: Well, what do you think is going on?

Me: Life is going to shit.

Her: You don't see it? You don't see the good?

Me: What is 'it'?

Her: You. Don't you get it? You have reconnected with a girl from your past, you are listening to the same music from then, you are alone again. Don't you get that?

Me: I don't think I do.

Her: Listen, dummy, this is temporary. What you had with the girl you say that Nine Inch Nails song was about wasn't ever real. You would think you would've figured that out by now. You may have had real feelings for her, but she doesn't know up from down. Everyone knows that. Nobody said anything to you, though because you had to figure it out yourself.

Me: Thanks.

Her: You are a good guy. This alone thing won't last. Read the comments you get. Read what you write. Girls like you. You're nice, you're funny, you have a good job, you're a good dad, you have talent, you aren't ugly. I think I know three girls off the top of my head who would fuck you and probably want a relationship, too.

Me: Again, thanks. It's late. I don't feel good.

Her: Obviously. You seriously don't see what's happening?

Me: No.

Her: Are you holding out for Pig girl?

Me: No.

Her: Good, because it's pretty obvious she fucked that up and won't face it. I know these things. I hope you don't plan on hooking up with her again.

Me: Not if we were the last two people on Earth. At this point, she's more an acquaintenace than friend.

Her: Sounds it. So what are you doing?

Me: Nothing. Being sick.

Her: Being stupid.

Me: This is a great conversation.

Her: Well, you are. Do you read your old journals?

Me: Shredded a long time ago.

Her: Too bad. I think your answer is there. I know you pretty well. I know what you eventually want out of a relationship. I think I know what you're going to get, too.

Me: Enlighten me.

Her: Nope. I think it's obvious if you just look. Get your head out of your ass.

Me: Okay. I'll work on that tomorrow.

Her: Who is this girl you keep talking to you? Is it the one you mentioned before?

Me: Maybe. I don't know which you refer to.

Her: From PA.

Me: There's a few from PA.

Her: Whatever. You know, maybe if you weren't so glum one of those girls who does want to fuck you would actually approach you. But you walk around looking like you're either going to cry or kill.

Me: Well, truth in advertising.

Her: You know that's not true. You're a cynic, but you also have a romantic notion of what relationships should be. Jesus, you're a dork.

Me: I don't think relationships can work. I'm convinced of that.

Her: You don't think they can work, or you don't think they will work?

Me: Same difference.

Her: Then why do you stay friends with the people you've had relationships with?

Me: [The Hey, Pig girl] is not that way.

Her: Not because of you. That's on her. Jesus, Doug, stop being stupid.

Me: I don't think they can or will work.

Her: Then they won't. You ever hear that before?

Me: I'm tired.

Her: Me, too, but I had to call because I knew you would be awake.

Me: I'm going.

Her: Think about it. It might not be destiny, but I think you are overlooking some stuff that is clear.

And that's how it ended. I had to paraphrase because I wasn't jotting down the conversation as we had it. I stayed up for a while thinking about it, though. I still don't believe in destiny or know what the fuck she was getting at, but I think there was some merit there.

Four pounds. God, how much longer can that go on?

2 comments:

George Anthony said...
This comment has been removed by the author.
-Doug Brunell "America's Favorite Son" said...

I saw our mutual friend ask a co-worker what was on her finger. The woman held up her hand. "I don't see-"

That index finger was gone so fast and disappeared down her throat so suddenly that the woman seriously forgot to scream. But then she remembered ... and wouldn't stop.

"You ate my fucking finger!"

You had to be there.