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Tuesday, June 29, 2004

“This town full of men with big mouths and no guts.”
- Nick Cave “I’ll Love You ‘Till The End Of The World”

that’s the song i was trying to play for you that day when the headphones kept falling out of your ear.

i apologize for not writing much, but that’s all going to change. i haven't written anything for a while, then i did, then suddenly there was a bit of a drama over here. and this is why i stopped again. here’s a quick abridged version. i typed this up the night after, then filed it away. now i figure i got to post it or i wasted all that time so here ya go. it's right out of a bad fucking movie. the girl that’s been staying with me, the girl i've been with for months, the girl picked up a worm off a parking lot after a rainstorm and put it back in the grass, she got drunk and fucked some other guy three nights ago. i knew something had happened and she wouldn't say so i put her in my car to go for a drive and i punched mirrors (i swear those things are made to be punched by jealous boyfriends, they break apart like those crash-car toys) and i slammed on the brakes until she was in hysterics and finally confessed. then i took her back to my place to pack up her shit. then i layed on the floor for an hour, got up and shaved my head, then (this is when shit gets bad) i went to this dude’s house, who i know, who i WORK WITH (he started a month ago), and i proceeded to hold him down by the neck and beat the living shit out of him. "living" shit? is there any phrase more confusing yet as appropriate as “living shit?” i hit him so hard i think i got blood on his cats. i told him that i would stop hitting him if he would hit me back but he just said that he couldn't because i'd only hit him more. it was ugly. he was like, "i'm sorry," and i was saying shit like "do you have a girlfriend i can fuck?!? defend yourself and i'll stop hitting you! what’s your cat’s name!" then i said sorry (!?!?) and went home to change shirts and take her away forever.

so anyway, this fucker is going to walk into work eventually (maybe) and everyone is going to know what happened and i don’t know what’s going to happen after that. i know there’s some co-workers that read this site, and we’ll see if they can keep these things they read about outside of work...outside of work. i hope it’s not used against me but i’ve heard horror stories about bosses slapping down printed pages of websites before some firing some internet fiend. c’mon though, it can’t be a mystery at this point. i think he’s supposed to work today. i already took the week off anyway so i haven't even thought about Monday too much. i can't believe he let me into his house. i asked him why he didn't stash a screwdriver or baseball bat under his couch and he was just like "i deserve it man." it was so unsatisfying i almost broke his fucking neck trying to get him to react more. he said he won't call the cops but who knows. it must have been pretty bizarre for him. i dragged him around his place and made him show me where they fucked. i made him tell me what they talked about after they fucked. i told him that i would kill him if she was passed out when he fucked her (there has been some debate about whether he took advantage of her, rides sent home, drink poured after she passed out, i may never know the truth). i made him tell me about the last time he got fucked over. i made him call my (now ex) girlfriend and say "don't worry, there ain't nothing violent going on" so no mutual friends would come to his rescue and then i grabbed his throat. i haven’t hit someone in anger in something like 5, 6 or 7 years? can’t remember. whoever it was deserved it though.

anyway, i'm home all week. haven't eaten for 48 hours. watching Curb Your Enthusiasm and Deadwood episodes. she says she's sorry and it was a mistake and alcohol-induced and she wants me to forgive her and since i can't hit her i want to beat on this prick everyday. just show up every day at his house like it's the mail being delivered. if only he would fight back instead of curling up like a bloody little sandcrab on his own fucking couch. who the fuck are the creatures that populate this fuckass town? liars and pussys all. maybe that punching bag crap was his best tactic though, because i actually did start feeling sorry for him. what did i just say? no fuck that.

so what the hell do i do now?

weird how much time i spent with that guy. thinking back, if i was him, i would have made a run for it. how can he even sit on his couch and watch TV after that? i'd have to move. and i was going through all his movies and cds, looking in closets and rooms, i don't know what the fuck i was doing but it had to have been such a violation. looking at him (before) he’s unremarkable. late twenties, looks like everyone else does these days, as someone else said, he looks like he should be in a shitty band with “The” in the name. maybe i’ll get him the Von Bondies cd for two good reasons. don't they have a “the” in their name?

you know what? this picture reminds me of the end of a relationship.

last thing i heard about this situation was yesterday from this other girl i work with (another one who lets lies roll off her tongue way too easy). she called to see if i quit since i took these last couple days off and i asked if she'd seen him and she said he text-messaged her asking if she had any ice. these leads me to two conclusions:

a.) maybe his mouth isn't working correctly
b.) maybe he used all his ice

both these things make me happy but i'm still fucked up. i just drove to work at 7:00 am to see how SHE got there (she had wrecked her car and i was her transportation these last couple months) and i saw that she was using her mom's truck. i was parked on a hill looking through the weeds like some nut. i also drove by his place on the way home but i didn't stop by this time. if i see him around this soon after i might do it again. and again. and again. that's why i took days off work. i told him to start looking for another job when i was over there and he just put his head in his hands. maybe i should do the same.

point is, what the hell do i do now?

i've spent more time thinking and talking about that prick than her. i got a call from a friend at work and asked if he heard what happened and he said sort of, saying that this other guy said that the gutless fuck text-messaged him to come over and he told Justin that he looked "very bad" whatever that means. tired of all this “text-messaging” bullshit. i don't want to hear that phrase ever again. all i want to do now is break his fingers and take away his text-messaging capabilities. i’m having a hard time thinking about all the people that lied to me to cover this shit up. it makes me want to move again. could be worse. could have blood on my cats too. it’s all a nice distraction from thinking about her.

p.s. Monday morning update. everything isn’t as bright red in my brain anymore. after some meetings and phone calls i’m still employed. it would be easier to keep going to work as if nothing had happened if my smashed rearview mirror wasn’t reminding me of everything that happened with these blind spots and near misses every couple of miles. back to work. what about her? what about all that time i’ve wasted? what the hell do i do now?

“What’s it going to be then, eh?”
- Clockwork Orange (the way that phrase gets repeated three times in that chapter taught me more than half of my creative writing workshops)

::: david - 2:27 PM [+] :::
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