Aging Puppet on a Broken String

My life is boring.

It really is. So boring that If I committed suicide, no one would notice that I was gone except for my blog posts. If it wasn't for those, no one would miss me. So you see, therefore I have no other choice but to blog. I'm a shut in goddamnit. It would take a while before people missed the physical me. But the digital me would be missed in two days. At least when the police break in my door, I won't stink, and be a bloated blob on the bed, with my feces and urine all over myself. My face jet black and puffy, in a suspicious grin, showing dull yellow teeth and yellow and black eyes.

Dead.

No, not yet. I'm not yet ready to go the long road straight to Hell, which would be the road I will be on, there is no doubt about it. My dreams tell me so. Fucking dreams so real that I can describe them back in great detail. Shit I woke today, after one of my forced naps, explaining the complexity of amphenol cabling. I woke up, eyes opening. I was in an upright position, my hands gesticulating, my head rocking from side to side as if I was a puppet on a string.

I stayed awake Wednesday night, and slipped out into the dark. A good time to be out, and onto the way. I got a little money and headed to Smiths Bar and the minute I walked in Charlie called out to me from the bar. I sat down. He looked good, as usual. He looked like new money and had the toys to prove it. We talked. He paid for dinner, which was more than generous. I could have paid for my half and going dutch is the 'in' thing during this depression, so it shouldn't have been an insult. My mind goes back to the last time that we met. We were not the same. We were feeling each other out. The effort took too much from us to become relaxed. We were not the same.

But this time, it was easier. We were more personable. I felt more relaxed. We shared secrets, we shared thoughts, we opened up...a little. There was still something not there. There was still the pain of the years, the time lost, that we could never reclaim. Fuck. It hurt bad. I'll admit it. I'll be the first to admit it. I think its the pain of this knowledge that we have to overcome. That we have to conquer. I think Charlie is ready. If he is, so am I. We promised each other to meet again at a restaurant next time. That meant that I would have to save. Which I could do.

He handed me his cell. It was my sister, RJRJ. It was nice to hear her voice again. It was almost like going back in a time warp. But once again, I could feel the strain between us. The lost notes in the music of our lives. The pain of the years is very real. I would suggest to you, never try it, because there is no amount of money that can bring them back. You can only try to heal wounds and move forward.

Charlie offers to drive me home, and that was marvelous. The Way has people in it! I would much rather eat glass like peanut brittle if given the chance to take a ride home. With joy, I accept Charlie's offer and off we go, uptown, talking about movies, and politics. We were talking again. He drops me off at my very door. I go home, close my door, and stay up until late online. Something that I normally do.

I stay up to some obnoxious hour, and then get tired enough to fall asleep. I'm actually getting to where I'm afraid to go to bed. I'm afraid of my dreams. Dreams should be forgotten when you wake. That's why we call THEM DREAMS!!! But to remember them in such stark detail...is literally disturbing. You do shit in your dreams that you would never, ever think of doing in real life, that's why you forget them. You really can't live with the fact that you had a dream like that. They can confuse you, hurt you. I think I'm getting tired of LUVOX dreams.

Or afraid of them.

But I do give into them, and I live them, and remember them, clearly. I'm trying to take an elevator, that when you release the call button, the doors close, and the call button happens to be clear across a bank of like elevators, at their end. I'm running back and forth like a dunce, when a young woman appears and I ask her can she hold the elevator for me. She agrees, gets into the elevator and goes. Fucking bitch.

I think I'm going to write my manifesto today. I've had enough revelations this week. It has taken a toll on me. Blog Hobo Blog.

Hobobob