christ666's Diaryland Diary

-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Partially fictional

It wasn't a surprise that I lost the motivation for the drink. The little spark of excitement that I felt when pouring the glass of whiskey was quickly extinguished after remembering my identity, and all the baggage that came with it. Such small pleasures are usually ruined by the depression that looms in one's mind. Life is still taking too long. But I tried shrugging off my worries, and gulped the large swallow, bringing the familiar burn behind my sternum. Afraid to exacerbate the sting by breathing in, I held my lungs still for a moment until it passed. I set down the glass and poured myself another, wondering if there are physical signs to let you know of alcohol dependency, or simply the intervention that you are confronted with.

None of that seemed to matter tonight. Though I was discouraged about what little fun I could have tonight, I didn't let my melancholy get the best of me. A sense of detachment, or depersonalization was settling in the synapse of my psyche. The feeling is comparable to floating in a spontaneous river, observing your surroundings while not caring which direction you were heading. Going with the flow is too much of a positive comparison, as it's more like anteing up continually after a long cycle of shitty hands. As the holes in your pockets begin to grow, the need for changing pants begins to disappear with your concern.

I sat on my couch waiting for the phone call. In a moment, Sven would call me, and we'd venture out to the world unknown for an adventure. Of course, all our adventures turn into mediocre guys' night out, complete with internet videos and ego-nurturing conversations about our pseudo-understanding of life. As much as we claim to hold the reigns of our fate, so much is out of our hands that we won't admit to it. I set the phone down to my side, staring blankely at the screen. I waited for that illumination to rescue me from the hell that was my life, if only for one night. A few moments had passed, and I fixed myself another drink, adding ice for a fresh, crisp and cool burn instead of the unfriendly ones before. Before I could finish the glass, the ringtone of Dave Matthews Band's "Grey Street" was playing out of my phone. I set my glass down and answered.

"We ready?" I asked.

*********************************

In the passenger seat of Sven's capacious minivan, I inhaled the calming air of American Spirt and enjoyed the passing breeze as we zoomed down the freeway. We listened to G Love and the Special Sauce while contemplating all that could happen in a night. The ideal night for any man is to meet a woman and make a glorious first impression. The smallest you could take away from the evening is a phone number, while the goal is to get a girl home with you. After anywhere between fifteen minutes and an hour, you fall asleep having not quite acknowledging the randomness that is life. I never really quite settled on what the optimal night for a woman was.

"I think I'm quitting my job," Sven told me.

"Why is that?" I responded.

"I don't know," he replied. "I guess I just feel this lack of accomplishment or a sense of not contributing to society."

"Who gives a fuck about society? What do you owe them?" I said coldly.

"Well, maybe it's not so much that. I just need direction in my life. I don't feel like what I do is building up to the big climax of it all."

Amen, brother. So many of us feel that, and it becomes the theme song of existence. He thought he felt unacomplished. I've been digging into career possibilities with only the dullest shovel.

"I just wish I was doing more than just eating and watching tv all the time," he continued.

"Fuck, dude. That's like my daily itinerary. You're making me feel a little fucking self-conscious here."

"No offense, bro. But I can't take this monotony anymore. I've about guzzled down all there is to drink in this well, and dammit I'm thirsty."

I took another drag of my cigarette, sucking the smoke through my nostrils. This bastard was making my contributions to life seem insignificant, no matter how truthful it actually was. I didn't need this kind of talk for the night. The last time I thought about my future, I collapsed into the fetal position suffering a mild hysteria for a few hours. My future was too scary to think about, and I didn't want to be visiting that horror show tonight.

"So what do you think you'll do?" I asked.

"What do people in my position usually do?"

"I drink a lot," I said.

"Maybe I'll join the peace corps. Or the Red Cross or something," he stated with a sense of idealism.

"Are you kidding? You actually are turning philanthropist on me?" I queried.

"You have to take into consideration that you and I are polar opposites in the social sense," he replied.

"What do you mean," I asked back.

"Where I enjoying the company of friends and meeting new people, you seem to have this predisposition to the population as a collective of fuckheads."

This was true. I had grown to hate gatherings and hate people. Meeting someone new was as hard as passing a two inch kidney stone. Whether it was working in the negativity of a hospital for almost four years, or observing life through reality tv shoes, somewhere along the way I became a very cynical and pessimistic person. A product of my parents. Thanks Mom and Dad. I laughed to myself at this thought.

"Well, it's a good thing there are people like you to counterbalance the assholes like me," I stated calmly.

Sven smiled at this. Eventually we both broke into laughter, and us two unlikely of friends were brought together by one of many things in common: our sense of humor. After I caught my breath, I flicked the remains of my smoke out the window.

Sven asked, "So you sure you're up for this?"

"It's like you said, I'm a hateful person. I need something like this to be an acceptable person," I responded.

"Yeah, but a party with high school friends?"

"I know... as horrible as it sounds, I think I'm going to follow through with this one. What else am I going to do?"

Not only did I become uncomfortable around new people, I didn't want to be around the ones I knew since freshman year. People that I called my friends were either turned to acquaintances or what I can only describe as mannequins in a forgotten clothing store. I didn't have much to show for my prosperity, and I didn't really care about where my classmates had gone. All of it would just lead to a diabolical survey of my own failures, leading me further to curse the success of my peers. What little spot of brighteness and friendliness I had in high school was now overcome with a dark cloud of loathing and seething.

But for some reason, I chose to partake in first real eventful evening since moving back from Plano. A city in Texas which only contributed to the state's decadence, consuming my life in a shroud of despair. Whatever I felt was lacking in Idaho, I never found it in Texas.

I momentarily stopped breathing when approaching the sign of Boise. I usually got nervous going to these outings and this anxiety didn't skip over this night. Of course, Sven continued driving unaffected. I envied his composure and was jealous of his feelings of content. A taste of that life would be a thousand steps in the right direction. The evening was upon us, and all I had for help was a pack of smokes, forty bucks, and my misguided contempt for humanity.

4:37 a.m. - 2009-05-13

-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

previous - next

latest entry

about me

archives

notes

DiaryLand

contact

random entry

other diaries:

littleafrob
hey-mike-e
naima101
mamaloza
slim1
obliviusgurl
toddbooboo
camiandvol-2
sundance-99
talkingmoon
drdavin
olydux
shwroder
twistedtears
punkigurli
earnest-dunn
camiand
ramoman
bagelbite
allmytears
kibitzer
t-gnosis
namerman
oralboy
myagi
princesjazmo
nelapsi