I Feel Sick

The shooter. I need to break this habit. For the past two weeks, I have been starting the morning out drinking wine. I bought wine last Wednesday before therapy. I bought more yesterday, and I didn't bother going to therapy. I should have gone. I obviously continue to have a lot of things I am dealing with poorly.

The scavenger. I don't like for people to waste things. It always seems so wasteful when someone hits a deer and no one takes it away to eat. When I was around 12 years old, one of the trailers down the road burned down. I spent so much time down there, going through all the burnt mess. There were sheets of paper only partially destroyed, which I would sit on a rock and read. There were the charred remains of an old typewriter. I never knew who lived there, but I knew a lot about him/her.

The writer. There was a bottle of blue ink. I took the ink and wrote something derogatory about one of my other neighbors (also a child, about 1 year younger than me) on a fence by another house. I don't know why I did it. There was no reason to insult my friend and ruin the property of another person. I've been a bad person for a long time. Anyway, I took a piece of wood lying around by the burned down trailer, tied it with thin tree branches (from young trees--see? even worse--I'm a tree-killer) to the fence to cover what I had written. My little engineering achievement lasted and by the time it came off, the blue ink had faded away and my friend had killed himself.

The mailman. I read something once which said that people are generally not able to live fulfilling lives unless they think of themselves as good people, whatever that means. I guess it probably means something like you don't swallow 24 ounces of red wine before noon on a regular basis. I think the reason I bought more wine is that I had already bought cheese. And I only eat cheese when I'm drinking wine. Havarti is spongy.

The dreamer. If you think of one place where, if you had to, you would spend the rest of your life in a time-frozen state... I would choose a jazz club. I think I could stay there sanely for the rest of my life. There aren't that many places that a person can stay sane without a change in scenery. Not that this is an ideal situation. It is nice to be able to go home and shower. Walk on some grass. CAUTIOUSLY.

The masseuse. Do you pay special attention when someone uses a dash? I do. I'm not all that fond of single dashes. I know it can be grammatically correct, but the single dash seems more useful in poetry, like Emily Dickinson digged the single dash, a lot. You know, I've been thinking I should love the single dash, for a while, for a change of pace. I could get all excited when I see a single dash and rejoice at its usage. Sounds like a good plan for the near future.

The swinger. I'm regressing. I always do this. I strive for a better life, become healthy and informed and reasonable, then I take a wrong turn and end up worse than I started. All I want is to go back to my original birthday and give it all another go. I bet I would do so much better. I would be willing to relive all the horrors for another chance.

Mr. Clean. Maybe not a jazz club. That whole scenario is stupid. I don't know why I brought it up. People could not survive without new forms of stimulation, different places and people. That's just what I'm feeling. Or it's the wine.

The exterminator. It would be a fun experiment.