PRESSURE PRESS ARCHIVE
RETICULATED DAYS IN THE LIVES OF A REGULAR MAN
1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 11 12 13 14 15 16 17 CHAPTER 15
I used my last vacation day last night phoning in at 9:30 p.m., gathered myself, & drove up the street to "Cousins" to drink beer & watch Monday Night Football. Required Relaxation.
Diane & I have been fighting. Marriage can be such a miserable experience, another part of the War of the Daily.
I drank until half-time at the bar, bought a 6-pack (Miller's Genuine Draft), & then found a good movie on HBO that was showing skin & sex. That BEAUTIFUL BEAUTIFUL chick who was in BEASTMASTER 2, who used to be on some game-show on MTV back in the 80's. I cannot recall her name, but buddy I'd slurp on her asshole happily. I'm in love with her.
It must have been a short time after midnight I fell to sleep on the couch dreaming vivid dreams until 7:15 when Rachel flew downstairs for school. I saw a Brontosaurus baby swimming like a minnow in clear creek-shore water.
Diane just left for work. She took yesterday off. She made chocolate chip cookies & pepperoni-bread, went & filled out an application at Elgin Electronics. I'm sure she's doubly pissed I'm upstairs writing, especially with the car falling apart, the bathroom door from Hell pulling out from the trim, with so much to repair everywhere.
Maybe Writing is Mental Repair. I'm certainly slack & inept with Physical Repair. Maybe I'm glamorizing the insane act of typing out thoughts on a cold, rainy, October, Erie morning upstairs in my un-heated writing-room drinking coffee, smoking cigarettes & weed. Men pride themselves on their abilities to fix things, to right a broken device, to add convenience in physical Reality. Also, this ain't like I'm writing for money. Am I sucking my own cock? Am I my own sore nipple? Does my Ego have a hard-on that words wrap & pull like a pretty soft-porn actress? Any question I ask is answered with brontosaurus echoes of yes.
The first Snows of Winter is forecast for tomorrow.