Story of My Life

Posted on November 12, 2016

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There once was a twenty-three year old who felt broken. He’d felt this way plenty of times before, but this time seemed a little different. It seemed more definite. There might have been hope in the past, but now that hope had died. There was no fixing, only mending.

He’s single, and has been for a long time, though he doubts the importance of that little fact. Yet it’s quietly eating away at his sanity and happiness. A friend he had known since high school recently hooked up with him – yes a girl – and then stopped being his friend. This was someone he had known for about eight years now;  a devastating blow to what confidence he had scavenged for himself. Yet he trudges on – and for what?

He has two other friends – both girls – one of which he’s had a crush on since they met years ago, the other who at least had a crush on him when they met. Now he’s not sure she does anymore, but it’d be entirely plausible. The one he has a crush on has no interest in him in that way. Sigh. What is he to do?

He has a coworker who goes down to Tijuana and slams prostitutes. ‘Slams’ is both his and his coworker’s word, not mine. Don’t get it twisted. Laugh out loud.

Oops, I spelled out an acronym, that’s probably why you didn’t get it.

Anyhoo.

He’s been considering going down with him. I mean, why not? A relationship would be nice, but he’s being realistic: It’s not gonna happen. He appears to have a natural chick repellent. Have you seen the car he drives? I mean, that should say a lot about-

My bad, I got sidetracked from the story. I shall continue.

So he’s thinking about going down to Tijuana for a bunch of meaningless sex. Well, isn’t that what our society is coming to these days anyway? His chick friend sure jumped on that band wagon. But unfortunately, he missed that band wagon, and has to wait for the next one. She might have given him the finger as that horse and carriage hauled ass outta town.

Hope he doesn’t see that line. Speaking of which, why the fuck am I telling this boring-ass story again? Am I even getting paid for this? Hold on – I wanna see my contract.

[Exits recording room to find his contract. Returns moments later]

Okay. Wait, what the fuck? Who entered stage directions? This isn’t Hamlet!

[Slams fist on desk]

I’m gonna pretend I didn’t see that one.

[Rubs his eyes]

Or that one.

[Reclines in chair]

I’m just not gonna acknowledge it’s happening. Probably just like this guy’s chick friend while he was slamming her.

That was savage. And okay, maybe I do like that word. Slamming. Slam. Slams….it just sounds funny to me.

Anyway, where was I?

So apparently this twenty-three – soon to be twenty-four – year old wants to die sometimes. But he knows he’s not actually gonna do anything. He wishes he had a gun, though. He might do something then. Not to anyone else. Just to himself. Because that’ll matter, right?

Eh. If that chick can know him for eight years, slam him, and then forget about him like that, he must not be worth much, right? I think so. Yeah, we’re gonna go with that.

Anyway, I’m gonna have to put this story on pause. But stay tuned listeners, there’s more to come!

Hopefully…maybe.

Well.

To be continued….

 

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Posted in: Essays, Memoirs