Conversation I’m not sure I want to have later today:

“Hey coworker I’m on good terms with but don’t care for one way or the other. I know you’re eight months pregnant, but are you missing a pink and blue xanax/morphine cocktail? I only ask because I happened across one in my car, and…well…it’s not mine.”


Posted: June 6, 2014 in otiose

At my heaviest, I weighted 100kg (220lbs).
That was a long time ago.
At my least healthy, I weighed 58kg (128lbs).
That wasn’t quite as long ago, but it was still a long time ago.
I didn’t even want to lose that weight.
It crashed from 81kg (180lbs) in a year and I could see upper ribs
lower ribs
hip bones
It was just as gross as any extra rolls ever were.

I just didn’t fucking care.

My body has been through a lot, and the most unhealthy images are what stick with me.
At either extreme.

It’s a struggle to give a shit.

I don’t enjoy paying my bills anymore. I would rather take a four mile walk just to avoid doing it. I have been very diligent for the past…lifetime. I’ve paid them promptly and without too much scorn when I was homeless, and I’m not even on the cusp of financial ruin right now. I just don’t want to fucking pay my bills.

I’m still going to pay them. I still do. It’s not like it was ever an enjoyable task. “Enjoy” is the wrong word, but it held a certain sort of gratification. At least, I could tell myself, I was doing something tangible.

Everything gets muddled when I admit I give a shit about things outside of myself. I’m not striving for the same self-centered, albeit self-destructive, things I was a year or two ago. I’m also not convinced I genuinely care about where my life is drifting in lieu of former pursuits, so I’m essentially passively self-destructive at this point.

I know there’s a problem, but I don’t want to fucking deal with it. I don’t want to identify it. I don’t want to put in the work to find a solution. I don’t want to give a shit…

but I give a shit.

What the fuck do you know?

Posted: May 29, 2014 in otiose

I don’t know shit about shit.
I’m quick to admit it in this kind of confrontation.

Don’t make this about me.

In a pretty direct way, you’re right.
I wasn’t there.
I haven’t lived your life.
I’m not inside your head now.

I honestly don’t know shit about shit.

Is that enough of a reason to push me away?
Do you think you know everything there is to know about me?
Is it fucking necessary to know?

Why is this such a common issue with people?
Hey asshole, we’re all fucking damaged goods.
We’ve all had some kind of dark, ugly shit that pops up from time to time.

Talk about it or don’t.
Lose your shit once in a while, but don’t you fucking take it out on me
Expecting me to internalize it and spit out an airtight solution
to your fucking problems

because I don’t know shit about shit.

Yeah, okay.

Posted: May 9, 2014 in hidden admonishment

There’s nothing quite like waking up at 6:30 to a phone call wondering if it’s morning light or evening glaring in the southern exposure.
Cover for me…without enough notice to wash the vomit out of my hair. Yes, this is the professional edge everybody needs.

On lunch, major transgressions from the night before surface, stare me down, and offer up a dull, empty lack of feeling.
I really thought I’d passed these past…what is this shit anyway?

I know what it is.
I know exactly what the fuck it is.

Fishing around in old wounds looking for a reason not to make an emotional commitment.

Yeah, I still drag the shit around with me that hurts the most, but I really did foolishly think I’d successfully quarantined certain thought patterns that trigger bad habits.

Turns out I don’t trust you, so I fold back into what I know; missteps in trust. Personally historic events illustrating why I shouldn’t invest in unknown variables.

I like knowing that I can still walk away from this and look at it as nothing more than a good time, but that’s not fair, is it?

I promised myself I wouldn’t talk shit about the person who has been taking up almost all of my time and energy for the past year and a half. It’s a promise that has resulted in stilted conversation, long periods of silence, and near madness.

Sorry to disappoint.


Posted: May 5, 2014 in hidden admonishment

I don’t remember the first time.
I think it was in the back seat of my childhood best friend’s car…after I knew she wasn’t my friend anymore.

A handful are buried in my parents’ backyard.

Once in the student union.

Today on my front stoop while listening to a deal go down next door.