we all got problems. it's backbreaking being alive. you try to clean it all up. clean your apartment, do the dishes, do laundry, go grocery shopping. the next day you have to do it all over again. its madness. all with a smile on your face and a "i'm doing pretty good." and we're all not. we're all doing terrible. we're all treading water.
everythings dirty. everything is a big mess. i guess this is when im supposed to have kids and all of the petty things just slip away. the only thing that matters is my baby. well i cant have no baby! im sorry. im a fag. im gay. having a baby would be a disaster. and what do i leave to the world? ugh! to think of my personal effects at a thrift store with old ladies and hipsters picking through them. disgusting. they'd lift one of my sweaters to their nose and smell stale smoke and move on. as they should.
let me tell you. im trying to be semi healthy. for me that means making sure i eat before 5. most days i wait until i feel like im going to pass out. then i overcompensate by having a disgusting plate of starch and cheese and then i pass out into a carb induced coma. im barely alive. fueled only by nicotine and caffeine. not to mention a laundry list of psychotropic medicine that would make elvis nervous. this is the hand i was dealt. or that i dealt myself or a combination of the two. i dont remember how i got here.
so many birthdays and holidays and babies. i cant keep up! so sick and tired of pretending, putting on a celebratory show. what would be the perfect gift, the perfect surprise to show i care? enough already. stop the world i want to get off! truer words were never spoken. who created this merry go round? time to throw all my crap off the balcony into the dumpster and scrounge up some money, hop on a plane to asia or india or africa and disappear amongst diseased poultry.
i want simple. i want to clear the surfaces. nothing but an ashtray, a glass of water and a pen and pencil. i dont need all this crap: blank dvds, prom pictures, a library of books with overt or subtle homoerotic tones. why do i have to store all this? who am i storing it for. for reference? what am i referencing? what am i ultimately doing with all this garbage???
from real simple, march edition:
"master bedroom"
PICK AND CHOOSE: Furniture that didn't match (and not in an interesting, eclectic way ) and shelves overflowing with DVD's and books gave the room a garage-sale look. Getting rid of the dresser and and two bookcases was a start. Felicia relocated some things and tossed the rest. 'I work at home now' says Felicia, a scrapbooking consultant. 'Why do I need a drawerful of pantyhose?"
Felicia seems to be getting her shit together and so should I. But I rented two movies from Blockbuster (not to mention four movies that I already have out from Netflix and a bunch I bought during several Best Buy blitzes over Christmas) and somehow that takes priority over everything. I guess I feel like if I watch these movies I might have the chance of connecting with or escaping into a fantasy world.
And that's what it all comes down to. Fantasy. What sort of fantasy am I living in? Why can't I just stare my life right into the eyes and say, "Mister you got a big mess to contend with. Some animal, some cat got in to your life and puked up hairballs all over the carpet and it's time to clean it up."
www.thejeremyshow.com
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