Earth
February 14, 2025
14:30
Tomorrow morning I leave.
Anna left me a message. She would like to come over to see me.
She said that things didn’t have to be like this. We could still be friends. But she is wrong.
Why won't she let me move on? Why does she cling to me?
17:00
As an engagement present Anna’s dad gave us a 200 year old bottle of scotch. It was meant to be opened in our honeymoon suite.
It tastes like shit.
18:30
Maybe I should call her. It’s not too late. Maybe we could work things out. Maybe she’ll listen to me this time.
I don't know. I don't feel like I can be her friend, but I WOULD give her a second chance. It doesn't make sense, I know.
She just has to listen and trust me and stop second guessing every fucking thing I say and stop looking for the worst parts of me and believe that I am able to forgive her. I know that inside she is not a bad person and that she just fucked up but everyone fucks up sometimes.
When you love someone you accept them and forgive them. When you love someone you want to heal them so they don’t hurt themselves anymore. You don’t let them bleed out. When they strike you, you don’t turn the other cheek and hide your hurt from them. You push the bruised cheek in their face and make them look at the injury they gave you and you tell them you still love them. They can strike that cheek a thousand more times and you will still love them. You will still accept them.
Fuck it I'm gonna call.
19:30
That was a waste of time.
20:00
I keep writing in this fucking journal like it means something. I guess it’s because I’m leaving tomorrow and I’m such a fucking loser I don’t even have any friends to share this night with.
I’m not going to be like this when I get there. I’m going to stop drinking all the time. And when I go out I won’t have those earbuds stuck in my ears walling myself off from the world. I will be social and smily and people will ask me questions about myself and think to themselves what a great smile I have... like maybe I have too many teeth or something.
I won’t sit alone in my apartment tracing the blue veins of my forearm with my finger wishing I could see the looks on their faces when they found out how I bled out onto the floor and stained that nice new carpet that no one ever saw.
I really don’t know how I became like this. I was never like this. I will never give myself over to another person again; not when all it gets you is a steady piece of ass and shotgun blast to your self-esteem.
But I won’t have these problems where I’m going. Everything will be different. Everything will be better. I will not continue to be this lump of dead flesh who just plods through life wishing for a better tomorrow. I will be a man of action! I will have calves the size of grapefruit and biceps that women will get in line to oil up with their tender little grazing ‘come hither’ pouty lips begging for more daddy give me more.
I will be a porn star; a samurai warrior rock god.
Earth: The Sequel
June 2028
18:00
The routine is important.
5 Am – Get up from pretend sleep, pretend to masturbate, eat breakfast, wash hands, brush teeth, stare out the window at the parking lot that used to be a field, put on that fucking suit, walk out the front door, remember something forgotten and go back inside for it, sit down on futan, think about what it would feel like to sleep, think about how many sick days are remaining, realize it is 0, get up, check to see that I put on pants…
7:04 or so – Punch in for work.
11:00 - Lunch at the restaurant where that cute girl, Polly, works.
11:12 – Stand at the door to the restaurant where the cute girl works.
11:14 – Turn around. Go sit in shitty ’88 Dodge Aries and pray the cute girl never sees me sitting in it because then she will realize what a fucking loser I am and never talk to me.
12:02 – Two minutes late back from lunch.
15:59:59 – Clock out.
“See ya, tomorrow,” I say. This is what they like for you to say to them.
“Yeah,” they always say. “Have a good night.”
“Thanks,” I always say. “You too.” I smile, and they smile back because we are all nice people.
In this way we cement our bond. We have shared experiences. We are a team. We all love the same fucking sports team and refer to it as “Our” team. We do not own the team. But it is “Ours.” We hang possessive pronouns around the players' necks as if their achievements were our own. With everything that's been stripped away; perhaps they are our achievements in a way. Perhaps our hopes and prayers have been made flesh, and the power of our communal thought has become the only godlike thing in this godless world.
There can be no god on THIS world. Earth, maybe, but not this one.
Then we have the long awkward walk down the hall. Whoever gets to the door first holds it for the others.
Then we say goodbye again.
This is the most we talk all day.
18:00 - Write in Journal
This is the routine.
The doctor said to set a routine. Normal
So I set routine. Every night I set the alarm and pretend to sleep. Every morning the alarm cries. Every morning I slam the snooze. Every morning there is the silent moment of lying in the cold useless bed for 8 mins and 23 seconds. Every morning I want to scream a scream of angst that would shimmy and shake the whole of the past and the future until nothing was left except scaly black flakes of ash floating in the breeze.
One day I won’t do it anymore. One morning I’ll just crawl back into bed and lay there and drift and squirm and dream of sun shiny islands and a chilled bed made warm by the copulations of island girls tan and still sticky from the hot juices of roasted pig and pineapple.
Someday…
Until then I have this routine; this is the well-developed six pack abs of my life; the core. No glamour muscles on this life, buddy. It’s all whole carbs and high protein and low sugar. It’s lean. I trimmed the fat. I had to so I could get here. I had to so I could get away from Anna. But the time cutting, and the time in cryo, and the time in rehab, and the chemicals they push back into you to make up for it all…
God, I hate this fucking place.
They don’t tell you it’s not really worth it; the doctors… They never talk about the side effects until they’re feeding you more pills to fight the side effects of the pills that treat the disease that they gave you when they told you there was a way you could help yourself and humanity.
Fuck ‘em.
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