Time Travel . . . Yes!!

I've already told several people this story, but I figured it was time to help David clean up his RSS feed for my blog. Because I went back and edited an old post, it threw off the RSS feed on WWYG. So we were all getting treated to an old (but delicious) story of a be-candied brassiere from my days of singledumb (emphasis added).

Anyway, I come to you today to explain how I have slapped down the laws of nature and successfully bent the space-time continuum!

The scene: my bed
The time: the morning after . . . nothing in particular

While serenely dreaming about football or porno or books about war, a shrill call rang out into my revere--fucking alarm clock . . .

At 7:02am, my faithful bedside companion did its job--scream and wail and bitch until I smacked it upside its head to fight sleep and snooze for an extra 7 minutes.

We do this dance every morning: she tries her damndest to wake me up; I try my damndest to remain in suspended animation. I continually tap that . . . "Snooze" button . . . and I fight the coming of the new day.

This happens several times, interrupted by the usual "call of nature" that starts the morning. Nothing out of the ordinary to report, until about the 5th snooze . . .

I look at the clock and prepare to . . . clock it, and what time is smiling back at me?

7:02AM

That's right! Time Travel . . . YES!!

Even in my typical morning stupor, this is enough to make me wake up with a stark double-take.

"How did I bend this awesome power to my will?" you ask. How have I perfected what so many great (yet lesser) minds have attempted before me?

The simple answer is . . . my Trixy alarm clock.

You see, the "Snooze" button--with which I am well-acquainted--has some other companions in its direct vicinity. Namely, the buttons to actually set the clock. My alarm clock has three such buttons: one to move time forward slowly, one to move time forward quickly, and one to turn time back quickly. By quickly, I mean that if you hit those buttons, the time on your clock will instantly change by 5-10 minutes.

So, while flailing blindly at my old friend, the "Snooze" button, I inadvertently hit the "time backward" button. I must have hit it just long enough to fall behind 7AM. When time started back up, it hit the preset time of 7:02 on my alarm.

So that, my friends, is how I experienced 2 distinctly different versions of 7:02AM this morning.

Later in the day when I arrived at work, we had not 1, but 2 power outages.

Coincidence?

Or the space-time continuum attempting to correct itself?

Circles

The air is thick. Humid. Hazy.

The air gets caught in my throat. I can’t breathe, but pretend to anyway.

Protests come from below, dull from not thinking enough.

Focus. Defocus. Escape. Evolve.

I am the wolverine.

It’s too dark to see, with no light (natural or otherwise) and that haze. The haze drenches me, like walking through water. But there is no comfort here. It is a mirage, false.

Overheated. Getting to the end much too soon. Evolve. Thousand-mile stare.

Waiting for the high.

Onlookers? Real or imagined, I don’t know. Starring. Judging. They don’t know me.

I am the wolverine.

I am the bull: watch me rage.

I could swear they are watching me. Escape. Bottleneck. Unknow.

Then comes the turn. As if starting over.

Waiting for the high, the sweet release.

Inside it burns. It burns like battery acid. Each moment I can taste it in the air. That haze.

It’s over, I know it. But I promised myself that tonight I wouldn’t care. Keep going. Reach clarity. Exist. De-exist. Think about anything but what you are doing.

Falter . . .

I am the wolverine.

You will see my strength. And you will be amazed.

Waiting for the high

We come to the end. The protests have now become screams. Every ounce screams.

I am the wolverine.

Evolve. Desensitize. Through the haze and the promises and the acid and the screams.

I stop. It burns. Breathe. Breathe in the thick haze. Sweat stings my eyes. Just breathe.

Slowly, I come back to reality. I stagger, drunkenly. My breath slowly becomes normal again.

I walk through the boiling water. The high never comes. I look back at the haze one last time. My head is light. I swim through my mind. No more evolving. No more escaping. Just being.

It’s a start.

I am the wolverine.

Happy Birthday to Me

Shirtless hit the quarter-century mark.

To Steve Fugate, your friendly neighborhood shark/cyborg/soulless, vile "human" working at Chase Bank:

[Shirtless stands up at the podium, ready to give his big speech. He's dressed in a sharp suit. He shuffles some papers, straightens his tie, adjusts the mic, clears his throat.]


























Fuck you.





Thank you, that is all.






This is just a snippet, but I had to get it out there.

This House is Not a Home

Last night, I spent the night at my house.

Man, that was a weird sentence to type.

I had been periodically moving stuff over the last couple of weeks, and I still have a bit of stuff to relocate (once I can get off my ass and get the rest of my stuff stationed on the East Side). I had just finished helping Matt, one of the roommates, move some of his stuff over at about 1 in the morning. He went back to his apartment (he still has to take apart his bed), and I headed over to my brother's to get a few toiletries, clothes, etc.

At about 1:30, I stepped into my house for the night.

Alone.
If I can sum up the way it felt in one word, that would be it.

It was just so big. And empty. And quiet--so very, very quiet.
To be completely honest, it made me a bit uneasy at first--'twas kind of creepy.

So I set up everything that I needed to. I showered (Lord, did I need THAT!), set the alarm, laid in bed, stared at the ceiling.

You know, it was quite familiar--much how I ended most evenings when I used to live there. It's funny how we so easily fall into our old patterns.

There was one large difference, however: I was sleeping alone--which, honestly, may have been a first for me in that house (the wife, she didn't get out much).

Of course, this may have prompted understandable nostalgia, possibly sprinkled with a touch of "I miss you."

In all honesty, however, I didn't have time for such feelings--if I were even inclined to have them. I fell asleep within minutes.

"Babies don't sleep [that] good." (nod: Ed Norton)

I woke up this morning, felt great--no worries. Granted, we have NOTHING in the house, so I'll need to do some major home-buying stuff in the next week or so. That may be a bit taxing, but in all honest, I kind of like this.

Some good news

So, I have a bit of news (for those of you who missed it during Happy Hour). After months of doing absolutely nothing about our house, my ex and I have finally worked out a deal where I will move into the house and take care of it.

In the coming weeks, me and the guys will move in and assume responsibilities for the upkeep and whatnot.

This is good news, and quite a bit of relief at that. Sure, I'll need to clean more and mow the lawn, but it'll help me get a tan. That, and I'll finally have a place of my own/my own stuff/some privacy/some semblance of sanity.

Why do I bother?

I called the lawyer for my ex-"wife" today, as I really need them to give me a decision based on our house.

Yeah. Remind me to never do that again.

I've maintained all along this process that lawyers are not real people, and this Nancy Schramski wildebeest is no exception. I only spoke with her for about 40 seconds, but she may be the most rude, disgusting, bitchy, vile excuse for a person it has ever been my . . . joy to speak with.

So, a lot got accomplished there.

Then I try to call our useless realtor, which is an exercise in futility most days. I'd really like to know why the sign is out of our yard (if that was his doing); why is there no longer a picture of our house on the realtor's website; why the house is still listed for about $15k more than we are asking for; why can't I EVER GET AHOLD OF YOU?

what the fuck? what the fuck? what the fuck?

Grrrr, I've about had enough. I'm so goddamn close to done here, people. I am going to snap. I am going to fucking snap.

And I was having such a great day to begin with . . .