I knew the true reality of it all would arise with the dawn of a new day. One thing I neglected to plan for was the sun that would invade my bedroom window. Now sweating last night’s beer through these stinky pores, my head is pounding from the withdrawal. It is a souring experience to wake on a Saturday with such a headache, hang over and relentless regret. Mouth dry, bladder almost past the point of control and the beast of burden is silently resting just a few doors down the hallway in my living room. It is inevitable though, soon I will have no choice but to confront my shameful acts which unfolded while under the intoxicating influences of last night, for I can not live in this bedroom and hide for a lifetime. I had only wished for another hour worth of sleep, maybe if I was a bit better rested I would be more of a man to confront last night’s demons.



Sweat matted hair, oh the horrors of a third floor apartment in the onset of summer that lacks a bedroom air conditioner. Pillow half soaked and all but naked if it wern’t for this pair of sweat dampened boxer briefs, now skin tight and twisted in an uncomfortable fashion around the modest portion of my average manhood. Standing at full attention, yet still flat on my back, this is not a morning to entertain my animalist desires; the pain of needing to urinate is too overwhelming to be delayed much longer.

Secretly I pray to any god that still believes in me that this day does not require any more effort then needed to just hide from the world outside this door. Its one thing to muster up the needed energy to fall from a standard mattress supported from the floor by a box spring and frame, but this air mattress is more like trying to escape from quick sand.

And so it goes, like a Monday morning that awaits for no one, its easier to roll from this under inflated dough ball and at least use the solid floor as a starting point for the agonizing push up to kneeling attempt at standing for the first time sober in almost 14 hours. Anyone that has been in this position knows that nothing could be more welcomed then a bottle of Gatorade, room temperature; and a soft pretzel to ease the stomach pains, some people are luckier then most. At this point I will settle for a glass of tap water and a piece of stale white bread; if only I can make it that far.

One can only blame themselves for their ultimate direction in life.

These countless piles of unwashed clothes hide the carpet, ashtrays over flowing with spent coffin nails and any surface capable of supporting an empty beer bottle is. I assumed years ago that by this point in life I would be one of the institutionalized. Just another man trying to coexist with a woman humping the American dream in hopes of a house, white picket fence and 2.5 children while only praying for a fast and painless death later in life. But it seems that still isn\rquote t my fate. Women seem to be like drugs to me, intoxication at first, longing to hold fast to that feeling. Then as the feelings wear off, my attention spam lessened to the point where I never recall actually breaking up with a woman, or having one break up with me, they just seem to disappear like socks in a laundry mat dryer or my apartment keys when already fifteen minutes late for work.

I have been told for years my problem lays in the fact that I just keep going after the same women. What in the hell does that mean? Yes they all had 2 arms, 2 legs and tolerated my insanity, but come on now; how can there be two of the same out there and if so, why am I always finding them?

Schorpioen

Gemiddeld

5' 7 (1.7 m)

Bruin

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