Marc
My social life is a joke. I feel like I don't talk to anyone anymore. I mean, it's kind of my fault, and kind of not ... kind of. Most of my friends from Blormal have moved away over the last handful of years. I have maybe two or three people down here that I can call if I have time, or if I want to. I haven't seen my roommate in practically five days, and haven't really had a decent conversation with her in a three months. It feels like I live alone.
There's the refrigerator, which has those alphabet magnets all over, so sometimes I pretend that it forms words for me when I go to get food out of it. "Don't touch the milk, man," it said yesterday morning. "The milk has gone bad." It was right. The milk had gone bad. Just like me.
My time down here has expired. It's been expired for a while now, and I'm just sitting around waiting for the last helicopter out of Saigon at this point. I don't get up for anything down here anymore. I don't go to parties. Can't stand 'em. The walking. The backpack-wearing. The heat or the cold. The bumps from people I don't know. It just grosses me out.
I'll go to a bar if the timing's right. I've gotten a few phone calls over the course of the last month or so at around 11:00pm from friends asking if I'd like to meet them at the bar. "Huh?" I usually asked, still groggy and disoriented from being asleep. They always sound disappointed and upset, as if it were my fault that I've turned into such an old man at the age of twenty-four. Saturday nights, occasionally, I'll get the bar-jitters. I'll need to go out for a couple of hours just to simply go out. I get tired of sitting around the apartment during the week.
I get sick of my computer chair. I feel like I'm beginning to form an ass-groove in the damn thing. When I stand up and start to walk away, my computer chair sighs. One time I thought I heard it say "don't go" in a sad, pleading voice. I'm sorry. Sometimes I need to be alone.
But not this much. Being alone this much is ridiculous. I've taped up pictures on the wall in front of my desk. It makes me feel like there's other people in the room. Maybe that's the point of pictures. Maybe not. It brightens my life, though.
If you want, I could brighten yours.
Hello? Is anyone there?
My social life is a joke. I feel like I don't talk to anyone anymore. I mean, it's kind of my fault, and kind of not ... kind of. Most of my friends from Blormal have moved away over the last handful of years. I have maybe two or three people down here that I can call if I have time, or if I want to. I haven't seen my roommate in practically five days, and haven't really had a decent conversation with her in a three months. It feels like I live alone.
There's the refrigerator, which has those alphabet magnets all over, so sometimes I pretend that it forms words for me when I go to get food out of it. "Don't touch the milk, man," it said yesterday morning. "The milk has gone bad." It was right. The milk had gone bad. Just like me.
My time down here has expired. It's been expired for a while now, and I'm just sitting around waiting for the last helicopter out of Saigon at this point. I don't get up for anything down here anymore. I don't go to parties. Can't stand 'em. The walking. The backpack-wearing. The heat or the cold. The bumps from people I don't know. It just grosses me out.
I'll go to a bar if the timing's right. I've gotten a few phone calls over the course of the last month or so at around 11:00pm from friends asking if I'd like to meet them at the bar. "Huh?" I usually asked, still groggy and disoriented from being asleep. They always sound disappointed and upset, as if it were my fault that I've turned into such an old man at the age of twenty-four. Saturday nights, occasionally, I'll get the bar-jitters. I'll need to go out for a couple of hours just to simply go out. I get tired of sitting around the apartment during the week.
I get sick of my computer chair. I feel like I'm beginning to form an ass-groove in the damn thing. When I stand up and start to walk away, my computer chair sighs. One time I thought I heard it say "don't go" in a sad, pleading voice. I'm sorry. Sometimes I need to be alone.
But not this much. Being alone this much is ridiculous. I've taped up pictures on the wall in front of my desk. It makes me feel like there's other people in the room. Maybe that's the point of pictures. Maybe not. It brightens my life, though.
If you want, I could brighten yours.
Hello? Is anyone there?
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