O no bitch, please.

I haven’t been able to write lately. I suppose it is because I think this whole endeavor may be pointless. Every time I think of the poem I mailed to him in a drunken haze (the eternal excuse), I cringe and blurt some fragment out, schizophrenically:

“Trick!”

“Fuck!”

“Composite sketch!”

Anyway, he said he thought it was good and would stop by my work on Friday. It’s Wednesday. Fucking Wednesday! No call. No consideration, while I am ever empathetic and make excuses that are reasonable but do not explain his COMPLETE lack of caring.

“Two of his friends died in a car accident last week.”

“His tour was canceled.”

“He’s 23.”

Now, there are contributing factors but the fact remains that he is his own psychoanalyst which makes him abhorrently self-involved. (The Queen of Adverbs rises again.) The last time he didn’t call, he said he had been in a substance-induced daze for five or six days. Nevertheless, young alcoholics have an endearing desperation that I cannot resist coddling. I coddle my own drinking. It is 9:10 am and I have had two, no, three sturdy screwdrivers. No sympathy expected, just factual reporting.

Let’s examine all the options. Perhaps if I write it out I won’t have to go over them repeatedly throughout the day. Start with the most sensible and work you way down.

1. He is terrified by my brazen and reckless affection. (Predictable.)

2. He has to much shit to real with right now. (Snore.)

3. He believes within happiness he will lose his creativity. (Banal.)

4. He is depressed and feels he doesn’t deserve me. (Blah.)

5. He has cum down with a case of impotence that makes the mind reel. (Doubtful.)

6. H doesn’t like me that much. (Plausible.)
   
   

Reasons. Excuses. The first boy who ever gave me an orgasm (we never even had sex) has dropped me in the trash like a soggy pancake and I don’t know why.

I suppose this is doing me well in regards to my creative output, but I hate to play into that for the fear of dependency on suffering. I refuse to be a sad, ironically humorous person that people admire and pity in the same instant. Frankly, I have always esteemed those types but now I feel the intellectual effort required for such a cause is silly and commonplace. Yes, yes! I want to be extraordinarily wise and peaceful. I desire to not feel murderous malice towards my fellow man. Half of me holds the earth in a sympathetic embrace and the other half…

Oh, yes. The boy. I was trying to figure out why he hasn’t called me. Now I wonder if it is better like this, using each other for our ambitious causes. These cheap ploys of expression make us feel solid. I suppose it doesn’t matter why, the reality is I will remain me and he will remain him; we prefer self-preservation to collaboration. It’s so much easier to write about it than actually live it.

-Kleet