April 11, 2009
An empty house
Originally published February 24, 2004
I hate living by myself. I don't like to sleep alone and I don't like having the Crackerbox to maintain when I am the only person who lives here. Oddball is no goddam help, because all she wants to do is eat here and stay over at Jack's house.
My motivation quotient has gone to hell. For a long time, I held a job that required me to be responsible for a lot of people, handle difficult assignments and meet solid deadlines. Now, I get up in the morning and look for some late-night Cinemax porno to start my day. I don't even jack off while watching the pseudo-sex, because that takes too much effort. I don't display a lot of effort anymore.
I have a stack of bills on my coffee table. I've already written a check for every one, put a stamp on the envelope and all I have to do now is haul the envelopes out to my mailbox, raise the red flag and send them on their merry way. I may or may not get around to doing that difficult task today. I don't feel really motivated.
Hell, I lived my life the way I chose. I offer NO goddam excuses for the mess I've made of things. I did that shit all by myself. I married the wrong woman and sired a son with her, but that was all a big mistake, too. I wouldn't do it again, but I can't take back what has already happened. I did it. I fucking live with the outcome.
I really ought to pay those bills today. Maybe I will, or maybe I'll just take a nap. Yeah... a nap sounds like a better idea. It's a long walk out to the mailbox.
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