My bed still smells like her hair conditioner, her lip gloss, like her menthol cigarettes. She ain't organic. She's got some nasty habits in her past, she's been cut with broken glass, had boyfriends put her leg in a cast. No bullshit, I met her last night. We smoked cigarettes, slipped on black ice under the bruised sky. I drank too much coffee. I smoked too many cigarettes. I didn't ask enough questions. I don't have any answers.
I've been waiting for something good to happen to me. I know, I know, I know! I've got to make it happen but still, shit rains down upon me for it's own reasons so why not something sweet and nice and candy colored? It seems like it's always tomorrow and I can't just tell the world to stop pulling me out into the streets for something electric and dazzling and mediocre. It's all distraction.
In 4 hours I will be in a medical facility. I will blow the sober whistle. I will piss in the pot while a flittish, fat black guy in a striped polo shirt watches in the mirror propped up next to the toilet. For this I will pay them twelve dollars. It'll be the third time this week. I don't think my probation officer likes me. She's a nasty troll that's probably never had a day of fun in her life. Upon our only encounter she made momentary eye contact with me barely three times. She had greasy straight hair, a plain oversized tee shirt and ill fitting jeans she probably bought at wal-mart or k-mart. Seeing as I had been caught with beer and pot in college I must be some kind of hard core addict. Or maybe I was a dumb kid with the bad luck of having even dumber friends? Well, I guess not everyone can drive to work with a hangover and get away with it. Don't wear a mohawk in the burbs kids, it leads to harder things like crew cuts and prison blues. Pure profiling.
Too weird for the burbs. Maybe too white for the city. Racism goes both ways. I'm starting to see it more. I'm delivering pizzas in midtown Detroit. It's usually college kids or regular decent folks but some of these neighborhoods make my skin crawl. My brother got jumped, robbed and kidnapped by a couple crackheads a few weeks ago. I deliver to houses and apartments just a few blocks from where he was accosted by the dead eyed and slobbering free base zombies. If I had a half a million I'd buy up all the slums and bulldoze the lot of it and start and urban farming project. Kwame would have a fit.
I hate Michigan for it's desperation (worst economy in country, worst real estate market). I hate it because it is ruled by it's jaded history and it's bloated state government. I hate this generation of bad haircuts and even worse music. Fuck this shit that passes for punk rock these days. Sure, their just kids for the most part, but they don't get it and I'm pretty sure the bands don't get it either. The Casualties played at my work tonight. Never heard them, didn't even care to check out their set on my smoke break. They got these fans with these terrible mohawks (I'm so fucking glad I shaved mine off. I didn't realize how many people had such dumb fucking mohawks until I had one. For the record, mine was awesome.). These fans, they got these jackets and tight pants covered in patches with the logo of every punk band they like. It's like NASCAR for the oblivious neo-con generation. They rage it up, smoke, drink underage and then buy a Pepsi from me. Do they not realize that everything that they do feeds the masters? Doing drugs and listening to music is not revolutionary. It's exactly what they want us to do. Because when your high and listening to music you are not doing a fucking thing. Don't get me wrong, I used to get fucked up and listen to music and I still would if the government wasn't preventing me from drinking. Ironic, it is.
I thought life would be easier if I wasn't drinking. It's just as fucked up as it ever was, I just can't take the edge off anymore. The full force of the daily brutal truth is hosing me down at all times.
As much as it might appear that my life is shit, I am doing pretty well. I've got a river of angst running just below my awareness of the moment. It is my awareness of every moment that has kept me from slinking back into the self hating depression that I indulged in so frequently not so long ago. I find reasons to smile and laugh and I have fun. Fun is contagious and do my best to be infectious. You pretend to have fun long enough and you just might end up having a good time.