Today I did many things. I had a job interview at my job to get hired to do more job things. I faxed in proof of employment (for suitably internet printed definitions of “proof”) and was immediately approved to rent an apartment for about the same rent as the place in Anoka, except on my own. I finished my Computer Science 4061 homework instead of clocking in at work so that I could go to Sarah’s studio and review her work so she could have some feedback before her first year MFA review thing tomorrow, only to have her cancel when I called at five, but hey, that was okay, because I needed to put that time in on the homework anyway or it wouldn’t have been done in time, I went to my “Introduction to the Internet” class and then followed my professor to the eating and boozing establishment known as the “Big 10.”
Someone may have purchased a few (as in four) Maibocks for me. I biked home after giggling on the phone to Sarah. The night air tasted like fruity beer. I sang the chorus to “Medicine” by Sons and Daughters.
Hit me hit me hit me I’m already on the ground / You’re asleep in the next room and I’m banging to be found / I cannot feel my body and I’m floating then I’m drowned / And nothing I have taken keeps it down / It’s a ride / Help me help me help me it’s a bitter hit to take / When I’m shaking once again this is too long to be awake / With the ignorance of new year / You could save me for your sake / Because I’m falling through the plans that we made / It’s a ride / My medicine / Happy happy happy you can lie behind the eyes / Without telling those around you that you’ve built your own disguise / Now time can only end it when the remedy’s not found / Just wrap it up and never take it out / It’s alright
There’s something about coming home half drunk and putting on music so loud that you know that your ears will be ringing when you lie down on the couch for what might be the very last time. Tomorrow you’ll wake up and pour yourself into a cup of coffee until you can stand to wrap yourself in clothes and sit in the chair at the therapist’s office.
“I’m all right, everything happened yesterday and I might One Time Drop my compilers class because I’m so behind in the homework except that it’s the only class that is really important,” you’d say. Your therapist, so tall and muscular that he seems ready to any moment jump on top of his chair and holler at you until veins stand out on his neck, he would just raise an eyebrow as you continue rambling about your personal stock of uncertainty and why you can’t stop hoarding it even though uncertainty is the one thing that is always stocked on the store shelves.
“What would it say about you if you dropped the class?” he might ask. In your mind he’d pull on a Mexican wrestling mask and point a meaty finger straight at tu corazon, calling you too weak to win in the ring.
“I dunno, I mean, it’s not a requirement, and the One Time Drop is there for a reason — I just don’t want to have to fight against another hold on my financial aid due to not meeting standards for Satisfactory Academic Progress. Plus, it’s the class that is really close to my heart: lexing, parsing, all that,” you’d say. You wouldn’t be able to make eye contact, and you’d be too aware of your hands fidgeting in your lap. Your fingertips would trace every pad on your palm. Circles, figure eights, infinities would appear in the image processing centers of your brain to distract you from the terror of knowing the truth about yourself.
I don’t know about you, but some of us have to get to sleep before facing a truck of a man in the morning. HUGE, he is. The Cardiff Giant reborn in callused flesh.