Million miles away
I take it less personal than most think, but you can’t help feeling a little rejected when people go through a lot of effort to keep you out of their house. It isn’t the first time it happened, and it won’t be the last, I’m sure. "It’s nothing personal." It never is. It’s just because, you know. I’m like this and you’re like… that.
There was a time not too long ago when I looked "normal" in others’ eyes. No mohawk, no outgoing "fuck you, too" message. I had to lose those for boot camp and following med school, and I must say it had a pretty interesting effect. Everybody suddenly starts liking you. New people you meet, relatives sharing with you just how happy they are to see you "look so nice". All this changes the moment you look any different than they.
Everyone looks at you differently, starts talking differently. This is especially noticeable with relatives, even some friends. Inside you’re still the same small personality, but people just assume you’ve changed entirely because you look different. All of a sudden the world divides into 4 categories: People that don’t care, people that start liking you all of a sudden, like the drunk kid yesterday that couldn’t stop lecturing me about the punk movement and the meaning of life; those who look at your feet when they talk to you (Hard for me to notice because I’m looking at Their feet most of the time), and then there’s the select group that crosses the street when they see you, and simply start disliking you for no other reason than your appearance. Theoretically last time wasn’t because of this, but it wouldn’t surprise me if it were. At least you know it’s not because you’re an ass, but because the person in question is the kind that you choose to offend with the way you look. Nevertheless, rejection is painful.
If I’d ever have a son, god forbid, I would call him with me on his tenth birthday. Then, I would pick him up and hold him upside down for 15 minutes, so all his blood flows to his brain and he turns purple. All this to make sure he remembers it for the rest of his life. Then I would tell him: "Son. If you ever end up in a long-term relationship and it ends, Do Not try to "stay friends". Do Not offer your support and accept hers, for it will be the end of you." Then I would drop him so that, 30 years from then, he would say "Hey father, remember the time you held me upside down for 15 minutes until I turned purple and then you dropped me and I was in the hospital for a month?" And I would say "Yes, son, I remember. Do you also recall what I told you that day?" And he would say "Yes I do, father. I remembered your words and lived by them, and it made me the Nobel prize winner I am today. I gladly take the wheelchair with it. At least I get pityfucked more than you now, father." And I would laugh and shoot him and myself.
No, seriously. Terrible, Horrible idea. Because before you know it, you end up at a party with her, sleeping over and you two are the only ones still up and there’s only one bed left. So after 15 minutes of a yes-no-yes-no discussion about wether you’ll just sleep on the floor (I wanted to, she didn’t want me to) I gave up. There is absolutely no point in going into such a discussion with a woman. I did, however, ask for a sleeping bag. No Chance in sweet and sour Hell I was crawling under the same blanket as her.
I had to get up around noon, and I had 8 hours of sleep left. 3 of those were spent wide awake, in constant dilemma, quite literally small-scale warfare in my head. The other 4 hours I slept, on the floor. I rolled out of bed and slept alone, like I’m supposed to. And all that night, I Didn’t Fucking Touch Her, not a finger. This scientifically proves I am not human, no, I am a creature built from stone and hellfire, with a raisin-like heart through wich pumps not blood, but a black, thick liquid of evilness. A bit like a homosexual, only without the little hand. A real flesh and bone human, with feelings, lacks the will and muscle power it took to lay still, and do nothing. Listen to the clock ticking, relieved that each tick means that the night is getting closer to being over. Feel her breath, warmth,… Knowing what you’ll feel if you’d only reach out.
But I can’t allow myself any slack. No time for being "only human". I can’t fail on this or I’ll hurt her and myself more than I can imagine. She has her own prince-on-a-white-horse now, and I’m the bad guy in the story. The ex. He loves her and she loves him and I’m sitting by the sideline hoping that they break up soon. Not because I want to start anew with her (my human side is screaming in agony as I write this self-imposed bullshit), that’d just kill us both, but just because I want her attention, feel loved again.
Satan himself would be proud. My training is soon complete and he will have his captain for his undead armies. One without feelings and emotions. Either way, I’m going straight to hell for it.
Meanwhile, the search for an appartment continues. This is getting pretty old, isn’t it. I found a few very promising places, but it seems like the owners aren’t too interested. Can’t blame them, I don’t exactly look like good housekeeping material. We should ask our lady friend for help again, she was a lot better at this. Mostly because she knows how, but probably also because 99% of appartment owners are male.
Men are pigs. I know this because I’m a man, myself. In case this was a little vague. And those who aren’t pigs, are dogs. Not the puppy type "hug me" creatures, no, the low-life leghumping kind. I should call her sometime soon, we’d have a place in no time. And if we’re Really lucky, she’ll sleep with him and he’ll cut some off our rent. It all depends on how much we pay her, probably. Whichever is cheapest works for me.
Pigs, I tell you.
Why do people, by the way, keep asking if I’m gay? If you would have asked me that a year ago I’d have torn you open in your sleep and eaten you. Nowadays, I don’t mind, which strikes me as a little odd. I actually do not feel offended when people think I’m gay. Maybe I broadened my horizons a little, or maybe it’s out-coming time for me.
To answer the question, however: No. I am not gay, as far as I know. Right now I’m pretty convinced about this, but hey, some folks only find out after they’ve been married for 20 years. So maybe I should get married and find out. And God kills another kitten. Why won’t anyone believe me when I say marriage is evil? And don’t dare say it’s for the money. Marriage for money is like buying a plane company to get free peanuts.
Two friends of mine, twins, got a turtle for their birthday. Yes, a turtle. In a funny plastic little tank with a stupid plastic little palm tree in it. Their faces when they said "Uhh…. Thanks.." were so hilarious. They honestly couldn’t care less about a turtle, they only felt sorry for it being kept in captivity. They even considered just stomping it to death, which would have been fun, too. So another friend adopted it, and he let me know the little thing is still alive and kicking. He has a small appartment with a balcony, and he wants to let the turtle run free once in a while. Kind of gives a new meaning to "walking the turtle", doesn’t it. Hee hee I’m so funny.
Come on, you go to a birthday party, and come home with a turtle. And, explain that to your vegan girlfriend! But eh, the turtle itself is no bigger than a thumb, so imagine how big its brain must be, considering what a small head it has. And Then try to imagine how big the part of his brain used for memory is. The little bugger can’t remember where he comes from or where he was going to. But hey wow, is that a plastic palm tree??
My friend named it Calimero, loosely inspired by the non-stop whining of a drunken girl saying "Name it Calimero! Calimeroooo!"