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Twisting all the bad things into good

Dec 10, 2011

The Nitty Gritty, 25: Use Your Delusion

I knew the storm was getting closer
And all my friends said I was high
But everything we've ever known's here
I never wanted it to die
G N' R, Estranged

            God forbid I got more than 5 minutes of sleep.
            I feel someone moving at the foot of my bed. I open my eyes to see DJB sitting there shadow fishing. In case you never heard of shadow fishing, it's when some scumbag that you despise pretends to cast out an invisible fishing rod as if trying to catch fish in shadows on the wall cast by horizontal blinds.
            Yeah, I had never heard of it either.
            He was too busy to notice I was awake.
            Apparently he had something on his line because he was struggling to pretend to reel it in. I was not as concerned with how the shadow fish were biting as I was with what this mother fucker was doing in my room.
            Last time I saw him he had me fighting for my life, killing for his entertainment.
            I had some throwing knives on my bedside drawer. I don't know why I had them so accessible, but apparently when someone is depressed and has 4 knives next to their bed, people assume the worst. Sure, I wanted to die, but that didn't mean I wanted to kill myself.
            I did want to kill this fuck fly fishing at my feet though. All alliteration aside, I considered stabbing him in his jugular.
            If a knife to his neck seems drastic, I invite you to go back and read chapters 17 and 19 again. Go ahead, I'll be waiting at the next paragraph.

            See? Yeah, now you want me to stab the son of a bitch, don't you? I know, right?
            Since I'm not a psychopath like you, I don't just stab the guy. That's fucked up.
            "What are you doing here?"
            Before responding, he actually finishes reeling in his line and then puts down his invisible rod. This dude has serious problems.
            "You never told me your dad died". He is suddenly concerned about my dad, who he never met. He's acting like a complete different person than the sadist I last saw on the boat.
            "Mother fucker, what do you care? Since when do you give a shit about me or my dad? You didn't seem to care the other night".
            He tells me he's sorry about that.
            "You're sorry? I almost died, asshole".
            He explained to me how he realized after everyone was dead, that he had no more friends or scumbags to film his smut for him. I told him I was not going to work for him again and I was done with that shit. He says he's done with it too. Since I'm the only one left, he's trying to make amends with me.
            He just wants to redeem himself.
            I just want him to kill himself.

            He wants to know about the funeral. I tell him it's in Philadelphia tomorrow but I'm not going because I don't have any money. He tells me he's gonna take care of it. He says there's no way "one of his guys" is going to miss his dad's funeral. I decided to buy into his act. If nothing else I would be able to see my dad buried. Once I got home I'd be sure to thank him and then tell him to get fucked. Since he no longer had any bodyguards to protect him, I'd probably kick the shit out of him too. Until then, I guess we could hang out.
            I walked into my kitchen where my mom and Betsy were getting to know each other. It was time to confront my mother about mugging down with some strange dude at the bar.
            When I was a kid, I always knew I was in serious trouble when my mom said "I have a bone to pick with you". She reserved this phrase for things like finding a bra under my bed or a police officer stopping by to tell her they received an anonymous call that I was selling drugs. Stuff like that.
            "Mom, I have a bone to pick with you".
            She knows she's in trouble. What's up now, Mom?
            "I saw you last night. I saw you making out with that guy at the bar. Dad hasn't even been buried yet".
            She tells me that she met the guy while my dad was in prison and they broke it off when he got out. She said he was on his way over and she wanted me to meet him.
            "Are you serious? Dad's funeral is tomorrow and you want me to meet your boyfriend? Fuck that. Fuck him". If she were really there, it would have been the first time I ever cursed in front of her. Hard to believe, huh?

            I stormed to my room in disgust. Betsy followed.
            "Are you okay?" she asked.
            "I just need to get out of here for a little bit".
            DJB suggests we go to Publix and he will buy some groceries and then everyone who is not here can have a big lunch.
            Betsy says that's a good idea. I have to agree that it would be a good idea to eat something this week.
            I have a nasty gash on my knee from the boat incident. I throw on my Abercrombie's from that night. Since they are ripped from above the knee to the middle of my shin, I figure they won't irritate my bloody knee. I throw on a wrinkled, pit stained white Polo undershirt.
            I would have dressed better if I knew I would not be changing for the next 6 days.

            I walked out of my room and saw my mom in the kitchen with the douchebag from the bar. He was obviously a bicyclist because he had the whole get up going. His outfit was all white from the spandex shorts to the helmet he was still wearing. My mom called me over to introduce us. Instead of uppercutting this Lance Armstrong looking mother fucker under his chinstrap, I reluctantly shook his hand.
           "We're going to get some groceries" I tell her. "I'll be back".

           My roommate, the only person who was actually there, heard me and came out of his room.
           "Hey, Jim. Stay here. Jeff's on his way over".
            "He is? Oh, cool" I say.
            He told me not to go anywhere and to just wait for Jeff to get there. He hurried back into his room as if he needed to get back to an important phone call.
            As soon as his door closes, I grab my keys.
            "I'll drive".
            This would be the first time I drove since I started hallucinating.
            14 months have passed since that day.
            I have not driven since.

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