Another hellish day in a continuing series of hellish days. My fist so wants to find flesh. Tired of the stupid. Tired of wasting my time and energy, spinning my wheels. Slowly tuning out. ("My hands felt just like two balloons.")
I'm reviewing a movie. A man is trying to leave his life behind. It's a life of drugs, violence, death, hookers and a friend he has betrayed. As he gets his shit in order, tragedy strikes. Multiple stab wounds to the back. As is often the case in life, you don't see the shit when it comes from behind. You're left bleeding out on a sidewalk, strangers and friends gathering helpless and hopeless as the puddle grows ever wider.
You know how those days go?
I don't have drugs that I can inject. I don't drown my sorrows in alcohol. The only arms I can fall into are thousands of miles away. I don't have my daughter with me every day. I don't write much anymore. The only thing keeping me grounded these days is the voice attached to those arms, a voice that knows me very well, and I'm thinking she might be a little worried.
So I sit here. Misfits blaring, door open. Cars drive by, but I've got the blinds closed to keep out the sun. Don't like the light right now.
Self-illusion has never had much of a place with me (though friends would say otherwise). I wish I had that skill right about now, though. Things aren't working out the way I want them to. I'm not the way I want to be. This blog, as insignificant as it is, is keeping my head on kinda straight. I taste blood, though. I can't help it.
"My mirrors are black" -- Misfits
Perfect. Brings back memories of youth. Amazing how much of my life 20 some years ago is coming back. I like it. I just want it in the here and now instead of the hear and now.
I hate my job. I smile less these days. I need to sell a book. I need to option it for film. I need to need.
Yeah. I need to need.