Going on week number two of sober living. The good news? My newfound JUST SAY NO mentality towards herbal and PBR remedies has prevented me from hooking up with Dennis Rodman. The bad news? I would totally drunk fuck Dennis Rodman. Drunk novelty fuck. Aces.
Did I tell you about New Years? Pre, during, post. What a shit show. Nearly a year had past since I had seen Max and Alex, my friends from Vermont. Sadly, they were never my friends because during my stint in the Green Mountains, I was not Alanna. I was a perceptive mockery of a once intelligent and reasonable 18-year-old. The mockery was my alter ego. They came down to the Bible Belt and my sins revealed themselves. I drank so much. I blacked out three nights in a row and fucked Alex once again but this time I was somehow conscious enough to realize how much he's lacking in the penile department. I had not partied to that extremity since my stint.
Awful, awful. Such defiance only caused my parents more strife until they were driven to question my every move from flushing the toilet ("Did you throw up? Have you been drinking?") and leaving a pack of water balloons on the table (case and point: drug mule. How does that even work? Answer: it doesn't, unless you're an overtly paranoid Jewish father.) Such a wreck I became. The cheap liquor burned its way down my throat and dissolved, producing a gaseous release of brutal honesty exposed in its premature state.
"Ian!" I sobbed. "Why won't you love me? Five years from now, promise you'll consider me."
You stood there and avoided eye contact, like the young high school gym teacher embarrassingly looks away from the overweight sophomore in favor of the boisterous lacrosse players. You address my drunken stupidity with as few words as possible with zero emotion.
Or, at least, I think you did.
That night, nay, that entire fucking weekend, cost me your company for nearly two weeks. The gaseous impulse drove you away. Your absence ignited my reason out of nowhere. Actually, reason was hiding in a cornocopia stuffed to the brim of a twelve month long toxins ranging from designer to dirt to psychedelic. I drove you away and realized what I had done and it was you, yes you, and not the seemingly infinite failing semesters or my families increasing loathing for their eldest daughter that shot a full force of realization down my throat.
You said you don't want it. I said you're a boldface liar.
I hold you to no account and I promise not to place you on any pedastool made out of the finest granite or Taylor wood. Exist and I will breath steadily, steadily, and eventually on my own. Maybe you will love me then. It would be nice.
You came back though. Why wouldn't you? We play music and get lost in the sounds of harmonics and the struggle of barre chords just like we did that day and the day before. Tomorrow? See me tomorrow. Maybe tomorrow if you don't change your mind.
Inconsequential trust. That's all I'll instill in you, so don't worry.
This page is done. Now I will drift off to sleep, my comfort always to be enkindles by my private thoughts of your strong, long body parallel to mine. The thought of your body so close to mine sends the pulse of my heart down to a more foreign, shameless location.
It's all I'll instill in you. Fuck it. It'll do.
Did I tell you about New Years? Pre, during, post. What a shit show. Nearly a year had past since I had seen Max and Alex, my friends from Vermont. Sadly, they were never my friends because during my stint in the Green Mountains, I was not Alanna. I was a perceptive mockery of a once intelligent and reasonable 18-year-old. The mockery was my alter ego. They came down to the Bible Belt and my sins revealed themselves. I drank so much. I blacked out three nights in a row and fucked Alex once again but this time I was somehow conscious enough to realize how much he's lacking in the penile department. I had not partied to that extremity since my stint.
Awful, awful. Such defiance only caused my parents more strife until they were driven to question my every move from flushing the toilet ("Did you throw up? Have you been drinking?") and leaving a pack of water balloons on the table (case and point: drug mule. How does that even work? Answer: it doesn't, unless you're an overtly paranoid Jewish father.) Such a wreck I became. The cheap liquor burned its way down my throat and dissolved, producing a gaseous release of brutal honesty exposed in its premature state.
"Ian!" I sobbed. "Why won't you love me? Five years from now, promise you'll consider me."
You stood there and avoided eye contact, like the young high school gym teacher embarrassingly looks away from the overweight sophomore in favor of the boisterous lacrosse players. You address my drunken stupidity with as few words as possible with zero emotion.
Or, at least, I think you did.
That night, nay, that entire fucking weekend, cost me your company for nearly two weeks. The gaseous impulse drove you away. Your absence ignited my reason out of nowhere. Actually, reason was hiding in a cornocopia stuffed to the brim of a twelve month long toxins ranging from designer to dirt to psychedelic. I drove you away and realized what I had done and it was you, yes you, and not the seemingly infinite failing semesters or my families increasing loathing for their eldest daughter that shot a full force of realization down my throat.
You said you don't want it. I said you're a boldface liar.
I hold you to no account and I promise not to place you on any pedastool made out of the finest granite or Taylor wood. Exist and I will breath steadily, steadily, and eventually on my own. Maybe you will love me then. It would be nice.
You came back though. Why wouldn't you? We play music and get lost in the sounds of harmonics and the struggle of barre chords just like we did that day and the day before. Tomorrow? See me tomorrow. Maybe tomorrow if you don't change your mind.
Inconsequential trust. That's all I'll instill in you, so don't worry.
This page is done. Now I will drift off to sleep, my comfort always to be enkindles by my private thoughts of your strong, long body parallel to mine. The thought of your body so close to mine sends the pulse of my heart down to a more foreign, shameless location.
It's all I'll instill in you. Fuck it. It'll do.
