I spent the weekend back home on the river, so I’m sunburnt to a fucking crisp. I got back into town late last night and met my friend Seamus at the bar for a couple of drinks. I don’t know if he is dealing with his own issues, or if he has just fully embraced his Asperger’s, but he’s even more difficult to talk to than usual. That’s really saying something. We spent an hour or so struggling to make conversation as I nervously gulped happy hour pints of craft beer. The whole thing was futile.
Last night was the first night on my new $1000 King-sized memory foam mattress. The website promised the best sleep of my life. Instead, I tossed and turned just as much as I did on my $200 traditional mattress.
I woke up at 6:00, fucking exhausted. It always amazes me how I wake up tireder than when I go to bed, get progressively tireder throughout the day, go to bed, and wake up tireder still. I’m living life in a daze, and I’m tempted to ram my fist through a window just to feel SOMETHING–anything.
For some reason, the thought of a golden-haired goddess I used to date came to mind. She’s on the east coast now, making tons of money in marketing. I spent about a half-hour lusting over memories of her lithe 18-year-old body. The body I used to own. I cheated on her because I needed to prove to myself that I could get women–always more women. I succeeded, but I lost a real treasure in the process. I couldn’t help but wonder what would’ve happened if I had been a normal fucking human being and dated her seriously, rather than using her as a springboard to fuck other chicks.
I finally forced myself up and into the shower. The hot water hit my sunburn and it felt like I’d fallen in a volcano. Still, the pain temporarily jolted me out of my daze, which was nice. I then turned the water as cold as it would go, hoping it would shock me awake. No luck.
I got dressed for court. Today is a casual docket, so I opted for khakis and a sport jacket. My legs are gargantuan, in part because of genetics and in part because I squat like a motherfucker. In any case, it makes finding pants that fit impossible. The khakis have a 34″ waist — about 4 inches too much — but are so tight around my thighs that they nearly rip whenever I sit down. My cock and balls are on full display through the stretched material. My boxers, which necessarily have to be too big in order to contain my legs, get wadded up in the mix. I tuck in my shirt and undershirt to top it all off; every fucking step I take is pure goddamn agony. I’m ready to kill someone before I even get out the door.
I run outside through the rain to my car. I start it up. 300,000 miles and still going strong. I drive through the downpour toward the courthouse. A full day of jail visits, bitching clients, and annoyed judges awaits.