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Tuesday, February 16, 2010

The State Of The "Me" Address ...

My "wife" and I just finished watching the movie Inglorious Basterds. Great flick. Great fucking flick. It was my second time seeing it. I had to see it again because it has honestly been so amazingly long since I remember being moved by a film and that film really moves me so much.

It is just an amazing, beautiful piece of art. It's a masterpiece and right now it has officially just shoved its way into my constantly fluctuating list of top ten favorite movies, right next to The Life Aquatic and Manos: The Hands of Fate.

David Bowie: Cat People (Putting Out The Fire)

But now I feel the need to blog, to spill my guts and bleed myself dry right here on this little computer screen because that film always seems to leave me with a deep sense of sadness.

Yeah, right. Like I need more sadness in my life right now.

See, after I was robbed by gunpoint the rest of the Gunpoint Crew seemed to have little problem jumping right back into the swing of things. They were back up and working and acting like nothing at all was wrong.

But ME, I feel helpless.

The thing is, my life was so far down the shitter BEFORE the robbery that the actual robbery itself was the final flush that threw all the shit down the drain. It's almost as if, right before the robbery, right before the gun and the police and the media, perhaps I thought "Well, MY life couldn't get any worse, right?" and it was THAT that set my life up for an ironic tragedy.

See, so once I saw some mexican guy jump out of nowhere and point a gun at me, I just thought, "Well of COURSE this would happen to ME right NOW!" It's as if I was expecting, with the state of my shitty life, I was expecting doom. I was waiting for the other shoe to drop. It was as if I was almost expecting to be robbed at gunpoint.

I feel hurt.

I hurt so much inside that literally at any second I could cry.

I hurt the hurt of someone who gets burned by someone, then gets burned again by the exact same person.

And what's worse is that there's absolutely nothing that I can do about it. I'm just stuck in this hurt like a businessman late for a meeting because he's stuck in a broken elevator somewhere between floors 32 and 33. The only thing I can do to stop the pain is to completely uproot my life and press reset on everything and I don't want to do that. That is the last thing I want.

I just want a normal life. I want a television life, a classic sitcom life. I want a nuclear family and kids that love me and a white picket fence and a wife eagerly waiting for me with a smile.

I don't know what I have now. I have a dirty house and two awesome kids and a job where I'm always looking behind my back, a job that I have been trained for the past two or three years to believe that I'm no good at. I also have a naked ring finger and a "wife" with finger quotes attached. I love her and I want her but I also want someone who wants me. And I don't know if that's her anymore.

I don't know.

All I know is that I don't want this silence. I want to scream. I want to scream and yell and smash my head against a brick wall and throw a chair thru a window and jump out and run and see how long I can run until I stop. I want to spend money and eat and drink and cut myself and scream and cry and go insane and check into a looney bin where no one will ever hear from me ever again.

I want some fucking sleep. And some sex, too. I want sex. I really miss sex. Sex was fun.

Am I too open in my blog? Maybe.

Anyway, my "wife" is leaving again. This time she's off for L.A. in a day or two. She'll be gone for about five or six days. And the really GOOD news about THIS trip is that I will go slightly LESS insane this time thanks to my new laptop she just bought me.

Inglorious Basterds. Great flick.

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