anger_frog

Six o'clock and I haven't heard back from her; looks like I got stood up for tonight. No worries though, as I can't honestly say that my heart was totally even into this casual rendezvous. I remember not too long ago that I would've jumped at the oppurtunity of a night of drinking and casual sex, but now I'm...hesitant? I guess I allowed myself to be domesticated for too long, and coming out of inertia is taking longer than I thought; that is, if it's still a possibility. Alternatively, it could be that my current situation makes the plotting of any kind of fun as difficult as arranging D-Day, and I just simply don't have the energy required to arrange any sort of relaxation.

Barring any miracles, this is looking to be the longest summer of my life.

Things can always get worse; I can vouch for this. So here I sit, the carrier of the cliches of life: the single father jerked around for the amusement of others, the down-on-his-luck writer who cotemplates life at the bottem of the bottle, the angry young man astonished on how powerless he really is. Here I sit, drinking alone and alone in all things for the night and unknown future. The intellectual helpless in the land of cavemen, the son who could never do enough for those who do so little, the endless parade of cliches. Beaten, threatened, mocked, humilated, broken, raped, deceived, robbed, crippled, emasculated, castrated, mutilated, and hammered are the currency of the coal fields, the heritage of our molesting elders. This place is hell and no one else seems to notice; all others escape before me or join the ranks of my tormentors for the crimes of a life I never got to lead.

I hate this place and I hate myself for not leaving. All I have to do is get in the car and drive. I know I stay here for my daughter, but how long until they take her for good? Isn't this just another trick? Another way for my cunt ex to torture me for her decision to fuck my friends? Hope is keeping me here, and I hate hope. I hate everything because I hate myself for accepting this. I hate myself because I turned my cheek and did the right thing when I knew the only way I could ever sleep again was to seriously hurt those who deserved it. I hate the "right thing"; the "right thing" keeps me here and slowly erodes my soul until nothing is left like everyone else in this chemical-choked, impoverished hell. One bad thing and I could have all the things everyone takes for granted; peace of mind, restfulness, trust, faith, optimism.

Instead, I'm a drunk asshole with no future. I pray to get your cancer by mistake.

But....

I am the antithesis of the angry drunk...10 or 16 beers, and I can deal with anything. Look, I need friends and loved ones and all the sort of the thing people take for granted everyday. I've been trying so hard to keep a strong demeanor in my darkest hour that I forget that I'm still about of the human race...technicially, anyway. Long story.

For the record, I still hate Whitey aka Uncle Charlie aka The Man.