big-face

I have friends now. I don’t participate in my own oppression. I went to the place today. It was all very impromptu and shit. Bill called.  I said: hey how about we meet at quarter to eleven? And he was like huh? Okay.

I went. There was probably gonna be unpleasantness and meanness on the part of glasses girl, aka his woman. I just prayed to be able to handle it. I mean, I’ve done some fucked up things in the past, but I should be able to meet a friend at the only place in town where you can sit for a while and shoot the shit.

Oh boy. So I see bill and we go in. of course it’s fuckin cold as hell. His face all scrunched beneath his tan baseball cap. His little blue puff coat. We go in.

The nice girl, young, is there.

Hi! She says. So far, glasses girl is absent. Oh good. We get coffee and then there she is. I don’t even look behind the counter. I don’t look at her at all, only out of the corner of my eye to notice damn, she has a fuckin big face.

Ok, be cool. She goes out the door. I don’t look at her. Half an hour later, she comes back. I do not look at her. She made her fuckin point the last time I was there. rudeness. Hostility to the max.  I had no idea what to expect this time. Honestly, I thought the worst: him and his woman were going to gang up on me and start hurling accusations, slurs about my mental unfitness, shit like that. Maybe call the cops and have me trespassed from the premises. But no. it didn’t happen. I never saw him. For all I know, he wasn’t even there. one way or another, I didn’t really care. I’m over it. Over him, or the idea of him anyway. They both put a definite stop to that. Their hatred of me couldn’t be any clearer. Ok, fine. I really just wanted to hang out with my friend and lo and behold, it was possible after all. No confrontation. Just don’t look at the bitch. let her think she put me in my place. Well, she kinda did. They both should live happily ever after, him and his big-face woman: the donut couple of the century.

“TEA & HONEY”

 There is a round headed, younger guy there. round all over. Pudgy and obnoxious. Says his name is gallon, like the jug. He has a big wallet chain and gangster style, with a baseball cap that says GOAT.  Tuesday night I drive in the freezing cold to the radio station and everyone is glad to see me . surprising. I belong there. i tell Layal on Thursday that I like the radio station meeting.. she turns up her nose. I went there when I  first got sober, she says condescendingly. Round head guy was at the wed meeting, he blew a fucking gasket.

FUCK YOU YOU THINK YOU’RE BETTER THAN ME FUCK YOU he screamed, smashing his fists on the table, getting his things and stalking off, slamming the door off its hinges.

Like that.

He is there the next day. manspreading. Thanking us all for “coming in tonight.” It was a noon meeting but whatever.

Layal came in and sat next to me. Idiot roundhead was running his mouth. Mark did nothing. Just sat there, writing in his little meeting book. I tried to explain some things to the idiot but he kept talking over the top of me. Finally, I said: listen. just listen to what I’m saying,

Okay, grandma, he says. Angeline is next to me. Are you okay? No I’m not. I look at Layal That was rude, she mutters, looking at her phone. Mark says fucking nothing.

Whatever, Baldy I shoot back. He sits, staring me down. Trying to intimidate me. I ponder throwing sulfuric acid in his face. I should have never stuck my neck out. Layal did not give a flying fuck.   On the way out, she was gushing to the little Indian girl “The Homer meeting is tonight. They have TEA & HONEY at the Homer meeting!” Which I took to mean: pay no attention to the crone walking behind us. She is of no consequence.

this is what makes him a man

Is this good thinking? The b names aren’t working out. I should go with Dave the Original. Is this a good idea? my head! I mouth the words of a prayer. on tv the guy was on his stomach and had been tased by multiple cops, all the while chanting the serenity prayer. I have never heard it said in that context before. Huh. So: total depression and acceptance. Ok, God. I’m old. Okay. I drive the hills for the millionth time, doing the same thing: shopping, meeting. I was gonna fb message him: hey, why’d you ghost me, you putz lol hahaha but I didn’t. It’s all over for me. I am entering the winter of life, forever dead beneath layers of permafrost. Something like that. I am employed this is my job: domestic goddess and meeting attendee to keep my head from falling off. acceptance is key, at least it says so in edition 4, which I’m so fucking old I have edition 3 with join the tribe. Lol hahaha.

I put my cute pink water bottle on the fake wood table. Layla is there. Hi Margaret says Paul. Hi Paul I say and look at Layla, drawing a complete blank. Senior moment I say. So sorry I am a total moron. No you’re good, she says. Like the Clapton song, I just had a brain fart I go to the restroom and come back in. you have got to be kidding me. It’s him, sitting at the table.

He says he’s struggling. That he talks with other men in the same predicament. I think: this is a good idea. I say hi to him.  he looks spooked, but I am calm. Yup.

I watch my black docs against the table legs. Think about the dream I had where Brewster was having a party and stood on the hill, his gray hair blowing in the wind like the guy online who ate too many of his son’s hash birthday brownies as A Voice intones: “this is what makes him a man.” Brewster put the giant sausages into a clear glass oven, turned the heat up to max, and incinerated them in a spectacular flaming fashion. Later, I made a sculpture from the burnt wreckage and put it on an album for him to find.

His gray short hair. His face, pale and sickly. His jumping right leg. His hand running up and down his thigh, ceaseless nervous habit.

I point my finger at him after the meeting.

You really should dress for the weather. It’s winter. Maybe a coat? A hat?

I’m hot all the time, he says.

Are you anxious?

Nah, he says in his Obama voice. My prayers have been answered.

dragon

I talk to my friend bill. I purposely do NOT look at the pass. The needle, the spoon. I turn my back on it. My curly fuckin back of my head hey get a good look at that, motherfucker. My friend is up against it. I talk to him. At one point the guy walks past me to the bathroom, all black t-shirt and circumspect. I’m so sure he is telling all the women he works with what a piece of shit I am. what a fucking moron. ( one has dragon nails in a very deep shade of red that is to die for. I would compliment her, but I think she’s in on the plot) so he walks past, all fucking weird and I’m like whatever. I have my hair in a corona of unkempt madness.  it was me all along. I am the one and only louche junkie nutjob of misplaced intensity. he walks back, all tip-toe weird. Like I might sink my filed stained teeth into him. I would if I thought I could get away with it. at the cash register, his face. . a joke with the ladies, oh so funny. Laugh, glasses girl. Yeah. You’re cute. Bill and I walk out, after a sideways hug, because like I said, he’s going through it. I believe all the women are watching from behind the counter. I drive out and who should come walking right in front of me but him. In his hat, hanging hair, bagged jeans and a neon orange bag from Kinney’s. I like his style. At this point, that’s really what it all boils down to. My hair writhes. I look right at him and wave with my hand, like go ahead. Walk in front of me. He does, does a little run at the end like I’m gonna hit him or something. Have a nice fuckin day. I’m going to Cortland. Go fuck yourself.

fantasy skeev

I’m taking a vacation from it all. I wrote this thing. No one noticed except Susan. Thanks Susan, I appreciate it. I told the girl today the hard thing and she was kind of ok with it and then in the end she wrote love you and my heart breaks. The blonde better be right. Kept me on the phone for 3 fucking hours. Dumping her shit onto me I mean Jesus fucking Christ, I have had enough of this kind of torture. People are batshit crazy. Myself included. I mean, I call the guy every time, I make food, etc. then I go to the place and hope to catch a glimpse of my fantasy skeev I have been overly reliant on that whole thing and making it happen and to tell you the truth, I’m tired of it. Let someone call me. Let them make it happen. And when the skeev walks by me, it doesn’t mean I am fulfilled. It means a dirtbag has walked past me and not given me the time of day. I have been putting myself out there with people for years, and this town or this whatever…I’m totally sick of it. It seems to me that everyone I deal with is supremely self-involved. And the one I want to notice me doesn’t give a flying fuck, I mean he’s a skeev, a skank, a piece of shuffling refuse. what am I doing making a deity of love out of him.? It’s nuts. The stores are nuts. Everyone jammed into Aldi on a Sunday, including me, trying to save a buck. Two people I thought were cool are…well let’s just say it’s not supposed to be political. I have no idea what is happening. The news is a tragic nightmare but for others it’s a wet dream. The machine is consuming us.