I was young. I thought I was an artist, but I didn’t even know what that meant. Looking back, I’m embarrassed—even now, for what was obvious to others but not to me.
By the time you get her attention, the bartender already seems annoyed. You’re getting that a lot lately. You expect it, really. You give her a short nod, turn and head out into the rain. You’ve come down with your third cold of the season and there seems to be something wrong with your legs. Your father died 20 years ago today. The earnest, dignified man you remember could be your brother now. Limping home in your wet coat, almost comical in your desolation, you wonder. In 20 years, will anyone raise a toast in your memory?
In compensation for his collapsing dignity and self respect he found himself engaged in escalating acts of grandiose generosity.
“For other foundation can no man lay, than that which is laid.”
MS
Stock characters:
1) man with gangrenous wound.
Parked in front of a liquor store, a song comes on and you find yourself sobbing. One of your grandfathers was maudlin, the other erratic and violent. You’ve always oscillated between the two, but lately there’s been little in-between.
Fundamental error: evaluation of others extrapolated from personal circumstance.
Another day on earth;
pray for mercy and hope for the best.
His electricity was shut off for non-payment on the hottest night of the year. The beer and vodka would stay cold for a few more hours. He held a bottle against his forehead and gave thanks for this small miracle.
People described as “lighting up the room.” You are not one of those.
If one more subscription card falls out of this magazine, I’m going fucking ballistic.
Do gorillas throw shit in the wild?
·
You just need to rest. A day of healing and rest. Around midnight you find yourself in a Thai karaoke bar down the road from your sister’s house. You vaguely remember Norman Mailer writing that scotch is for people who’ve given up hope, and order one. Midway through your second, watching a stoned girl and her catatonic friend wander listlessly through I’m a Believer, you have your first panic attack.
You’ve always known you’re unremarkable. But now, on your day of healing and rest, curled up on the bathroom floor, you’re spectacular.
