FanPost

Wednesday Morning

I was washing plates I remember everything.

I was standing there in the kitchen of the house I grew up with watching the streetlight over the park flicker in and out and I was standing there and I was watching that park through the trees and moonlight and fog underneath a streetlight. Washed in blue and the trees are blue and the asphalt path is blue and two kids there wearing hats and drinking sodas and sharpening their teeth. These are the moments I remember when I think and when I think I like to dig in and feel the blue wash over me too. Spare me. Spare me. Please put your teeth away.

Just fix it, sir. [laughter].

I'm being sued for divorce, you understand? Why should I understand. Who am I to understand such a thing?

Washing windows and washing tires and scrubbing tires and washing bumpers and drinking a beer and swatting at wasps I hate the outside. Sticky and warm and overrun with insects and critters and most dreadfully Unionized City Workers. I was nearly killed by a woman in an SUV that had city plates so I called the City and demanded she be fired or shot or fired into the a ravine or shot into the sun and they said yeah we've had a few calls and I said one seems like enough to act on. How'd we ever get so tangled up?

Why am I so tangled up? Why do I ask questions in such a way as to make them sound like the pathetic wailings of a madman and why do I answer my own questions before the sentence has come to an end?

I have moved so far from the conventions of the English language that when I tried to pick up a second job teaching ESL to The French I realized my French grammar is stronger than my English because for so long I have built this manic and semi (psymi?) psychotic style of writing but also living. I caught myself absent mindedly talking aloud to myself in the grocery store yesterday. Where were the fucking cheese curds? And who was I to wonder?

My first sin was a young girl I treated badly in the end. I am working through my history with a trained professional. A tamer of lions and wrestler of bears and former employee of the NHS and one time Capital One executive and author of a paper on the dangers of untreated bipolar disorder. He gave me coping mechanisms and I've ignored them and told him as much and he laughed and said he figured and looks forward to seeing me again. People like seeing me. I light rooms on fire. I drain the energy out of people like Mr. Negative and explode across the room like Dr. Manhattan. When my back hurts I limp like Dr.House. Hugh Laurie has no business making as good of music as he does by the way. Fuck is that about.

It's good to have you people. I like you people. I miss Lung and Rusty educating me in their way on how to pull back just a little bit and see things from a different perspective. I miss p4pnd saying such kind and insightful things about me, a classless goon. I miss Doc's essays and his musings and his way of finding connections to things that my brain could never consider. I like you idiots. I'm forgetting people. The guy who I fought with about Canelo and then eventually ended up becoming cool with because WE ALL WANT RESOLUTION AND CATHARSIS.

It's something that I love. People finding love in their forties. People finding success late in life.

I was washing my windows. I have big windows. Specially made. Like my ceiling fan. Like my blinds. Like the sink in the laundry room bathroom next to the hole I put in the wall. I still get mad. Furious even. I grilled a steak for me and some kind of a veggie monstrosity for her. It stuck to the grill and I complained loudly until my dissatisfaction was acknowledged which is all I ever want. I don't even want praise. Engagement.

I am throwing words around and together and linking them in ways that make little sense and I am resolving not to edit this because I want to do something positive which is show you how this all operates under the hood. The chaos of hypomania. If I could harness this into a more specific feeling I would likely be ruling the free world or at very least fucking a senator's wife while he's off plotting new ways to destroy Reserve Lands. We have MPs here but you get it. You always get it.

I loved her like a Wednesday morning. I loved her like old shoes you can't throw away. I loved her like a pistol pointed at my kneecap. I think if I saw her today I would start sobbing. I don't love her any more but I didn't get to make that choice.

That's the past.

Where's the pool? I might want to take a dip after I hit the bar. [Car horns, ambient noise of hotel lobby.]

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