the slats in the fire escape look all the way down. technically, this measures only two stories cos it's at the very top of the second story, but at this point, all the stories have been told. there is only here and now.
the word "unfriended" doesn't exist in a spellcheck... well, yet.
there is a phone call. it's not as drunk as you would think it would be, but confirms a lousy week or maybe years. chicago is a city consisting of 2.8 million people, and yet a person might be ostracized from the community quickly.
the phone offers options in bars, as though it has thought this quagmire over previously: the first is 'the otter' on ashland, which isn't the right scene. the second is a bar on hoyne and charleston which the phone, ironically, cannot remember the name of, but is not a possibility for a myriad of reasons.
the phone hangs up with promises of calling the next day, which will never happen. it's another closed chapter.
a car makes a u-turn down ogden. people cross the street loudly, they seem happy as a cabby honks at them to get out of the way. to the east the loop has shut down. the hancock building has silenced the lights. the city sleeps. the song alison off of elvis costello's debut album plays at random. my aim is true came out on the day i was born. i am alone.
a memory fades in. i had gone into a record store to buy a new album, and when i come out the keys are locked in my truck--this happens to me on an alarming basis. my folks are in madison and everybody else i try calling either doesn't pick up or are in dispose. it's a 3 mile round trip to walk, pick up a spare set of keys and then come back, but there is the horrible feeling of being alone; on my own.
chicago is the city i want to be in--an irony as i only leave the apartment once a day to go jogging. i don't know if i made the right decision; i do not know how i will come out of this. i'm searching for a positive or uplifting way of ending this, but it doesn't exist. i'm here now. i'm listening to alison by elvis costello. i've never thought i suck at life more.
1 comment:
Not sure how I found you here maybe six months ago. Probably longer if I were going to be honest but there's no need for that. Admittedly there is an element of train wreck in my interest so far. Sorry about that.
J asked me to contact you well over a year ago. I didn't. Sorry about that too. My shit bucket was full at the time.
Actually I think I found you here when I was still on FaceSpace.
Often I'll recognize an old reference or a mannerism that's familiar. That's fun. Or I think I've managed to decipher a cryptic moniker ... someone I used to know. (I'm very easily amused.) Most of the time I'm utterly confused but it doesn't matter.
So far so good. Simple and non-committal, although it's beginning to feel a bit like stalking.
Then I get anxious. When that happens I get a little noise in my ears like a barely audible whisper. Please go away! Anxiety (and whispers) increase when I start asking questions.
Unfortunately answers are a necessary precondition for questions (and not the other way around). Questions are easy. Answers are hard. I make up my own answers *all the time* and they're invariably worse than no answer at all.
Are you okay? Are you always this fucking depressing? Are you really talking about who I think you're talking about? I really fucking hope not. What the hell happened here?
That's probably too much.
Here's something simple: What are you reading now? I'm reading 'Moby Dick, or the Whale' and I'm beginning to understand why the phrase 'or, the Whale', while vitally important, is so often ignored.
I've had lots of good friends. I haven't had any for awhile ... but that's okay. I remember you as one of the best.
PS 'Refriended' doesn't exist either.
C
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