Unemployment makes you feel less than useless. I've been sitting here at the hacienda, waiting to be called back for an interview...ever since I got out of the hospital a month ago.
My depression always gets worse at night, when thoughts crawl into my head. I start thinking about old relationships...and wishing I had someone here to hold me while I cried.
I never got used to sleeping alone...and I always exchanged companionship for caregiving. My last girlfriend was a raging alcoholic, who I cared for as best I could. Nights were an inevitable mess of intoxication, stupid comments, cigarette smoke, and far too often...her puking in the toilet.
Why do you like me so much, Kevin?
She would say this in between heaves. At that time, I was living by myself at a dorm apartment on campus, and she'd go out on the town...living off of credit cards and the remainder of the money from the last job she's lost as a result of her very public intoxication.
I knew where to find her, always. By 6 pm, my classes were over for the day...and she would be perched at the trendy Asian restaurant downtown...by the bar, of course.
The time that sticks out most in my mind was when I arrived to see her chatting with the two female flight attendants, in town temporarily for one of their stayovers. By this point, she was silly stupid drunk on White Russians (all she would drink). They were decidedly less intoxicated than she was...and rolling their eyes at her behind her back...making conspiratorial grins at me the whole time, as if to say...
Why do you put up with this Lulu?
And like always, I would pretend like everything was perfectly normal and listen to her drunken babbling.
She kept trying to kiss the most attractive one...the blonde, who had a very prominent ank tattoo on her lower back. I never had a problem with the fact that she liked girls...I like boys, so I considered it to be only fair. I never had a problem, either, when she'd flirt in front of me with the men who would slink over next to her, hoping to find a easy lay.
I did, however, feel horrible for her when the blonde...in a spirit of obvious condescention, told her that she could kiss her on the cheek, but not the lips.
My lady obliged, reluctantly...with only a peck on the cheek...and they kept talking to me, interested in what I had to say...the whole time trying to be polite and ignore the codshit now pouring from her mouth.
I said my goodbyes, and drove her home yet again.
We had empty, meaningless sex immediately afterwards. Sex normally makes me feel good...I never felt good after any of our sessions. Part of it was that she screamed bloody murder the whole time...obviously enjoying it and into it much more than I ever was.
It's horrible to be inside a woman and think...
Why am I even bothering?
My depression always gets worse at night, when thoughts crawl into my head. I start thinking about old relationships...and wishing I had someone here to hold me while I cried.
I never got used to sleeping alone...and I always exchanged companionship for caregiving. My last girlfriend was a raging alcoholic, who I cared for as best I could. Nights were an inevitable mess of intoxication, stupid comments, cigarette smoke, and far too often...her puking in the toilet.
Why do you like me so much, Kevin?
She would say this in between heaves. At that time, I was living by myself at a dorm apartment on campus, and she'd go out on the town...living off of credit cards and the remainder of the money from the last job she's lost as a result of her very public intoxication.
I knew where to find her, always. By 6 pm, my classes were over for the day...and she would be perched at the trendy Asian restaurant downtown...by the bar, of course.
The time that sticks out most in my mind was when I arrived to see her chatting with the two female flight attendants, in town temporarily for one of their stayovers. By this point, she was silly stupid drunk on White Russians (all she would drink). They were decidedly less intoxicated than she was...and rolling their eyes at her behind her back...making conspiratorial grins at me the whole time, as if to say...
Why do you put up with this Lulu?
And like always, I would pretend like everything was perfectly normal and listen to her drunken babbling.
She kept trying to kiss the most attractive one...the blonde, who had a very prominent ank tattoo on her lower back. I never had a problem with the fact that she liked girls...I like boys, so I considered it to be only fair. I never had a problem, either, when she'd flirt in front of me with the men who would slink over next to her, hoping to find a easy lay.
I did, however, feel horrible for her when the blonde...in a spirit of obvious condescention, told her that she could kiss her on the cheek, but not the lips.
My lady obliged, reluctantly...with only a peck on the cheek...and they kept talking to me, interested in what I had to say...the whole time trying to be polite and ignore the codshit now pouring from her mouth.
I said my goodbyes, and drove her home yet again.
We had empty, meaningless sex immediately afterwards. Sex normally makes me feel good...I never felt good after any of our sessions. Part of it was that she screamed bloody murder the whole time...obviously enjoying it and into it much more than I ever was.
It's horrible to be inside a woman and think...
Why am I even bothering?
and i know the useless feeling of being unemployed after you get out of the hospital.
and, unfortunately, i know the non-joys of empty, meaningless sex.
tell me something good?