July Twelve: Unlivable State

I lack any real ability to compartmentalize. When something is fucked up in the back of my head, it’s on constant display on my face. I decided to wander around midtown last night in some misguided attempt to meet women on a Thursday. I was mellowed out by a Klonopin and the bizarrely cool weather. The streets were dead. I had to walk blocks before seeing any non-homeless person. There were no attractive girls to be found at the regular spots. The only people I met were a black couple who asked me for 10 bucks (the female was tweaking hard) and a gay cholo who said I could make some money tonight if I was “open minded enough.”

These fucking delinquent tickets I have are killing me on the inside. It sounds absurd but I owe the government so much money for stupid bullshit that it stresses me out. The only thing worse than this feeling of unresolved “debt” would be actually paying these things. And Goddamn, everything in California is a fucking scam or a bureaucratic nightmare. Want to start a small business? Add a garage to your house? Go fuck yourself. I’m surprised I can still shit in my own toilet without filling out a confusing form. What frustrates me is going to work (which I hate on principle even though I work less than 20 hours a week) and knowing that all the money I make that day is going to have to be flushed down the mailbox.

This is going to sound like some hippie bullshit but the whole of modern living is about keeping our minds away from the present. My mind can’t be on the cute girl sitting on the other side of the cafe because if I let myself get caught up in conversation with her, I’ll get a fifty-six dollar parking ticket. My mind has to always get back to a clock and where I’m parked. Nobody just sits and drinks coffee. They all have iphones sitting next to them, ready to chime or quack and make a harp sound that pulls them out of the present and shifts their attention to some guy who wants to fuck them. Or worse, a push notice from Facebook that chimes to say someone liked their photo. And the photo is never anything impressive like a giant turd that protrudes out of the water. What’s worse is the people who apologize for the State. They say in a sing-song voice “wellllll, if anyyyone could just start selling things they would be unsafe andtherewouldbenoplacetoparkiftheydidntticketandtheticketsarethatpricebecausethere’sanextrafeethatisnddededtocoveradministrativecostsand…blah blah.” It’s dumbfounding; like guys who enjoy being pegged. I can’t even fathom.

My ex-lover is dating some other asshole. I was almost over her until we fucked the other night. I stayed in her bed all weekend having marathon unprotected sex with her. Another flashing glimpse at bliss. Then she left to San Francisco with her slutty friends who do coke and get fucked in bathrooms. I haven’t seen her in a week and I know she’s with some guy and that too stresses me out. Only because all of my new lady friends are lower quality than her I think. Whenever I’m with them I feel like I’m selling myself short. I’m going through the motions with these girls like an actor who is relegated to a shitty play he’s been in so many times that he no longer recognizes the plot but still can deliver the lines. At least I got a free coffee today.


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