Sleeping With The Television On

July 14, 2009 at 1:35 AM | Posted in Journal | 1 Comment
  That’s a song by Billy Joel.  It’s on the Glass Houses album, the second side if your into vinyl.
  My sweetheart is out of town, in Michigan.  I’m free to do pretty much whatever I want; however, there’s not much I want to do without her.  I hope I get the grass cut before she gets home, although that was technically assigned to the boys.  We have a good excuse:  we had a lot of rain here.
  But I had other things I wanted to get done, and I felt listless–rudderless, even–and very unmotivated.  I did get caught up on my laying on the couch, however.  I’ve had a hard time with sleeping.  It’s usually not a problem.
  And it’s not even much to do with the fact that Detroit is going to see a friend of hers–a male friend–alone.  A friend of which I should have been paying more attention to the details of their relationship when she explained them to me.  Did they, or did they not, "date"?  Did they, or did they not, have sex?  Should I, or should I not, be concerned?
  It’s not that I don’t trust her–I do.  Mostly.  But she may not trust me, simply because I talk alot of smack.  Of course there’s alot of women I *WANT* to have sex with, but even after you eliminate the 99.999% of them that don’t reciprocate those feelings, in the world there exist a number of women who may or may not be willing to fuck me, and normally that thought would excite me.  Detroit may believe I am actively engaged in seeking them out.  I’m not, but how is she to know?  I mean, first of all, I’m chicken.  I want to get to know someone first, to kind of prepare them for seeing me naked.  Secondly, I have alot of residual guilt from the whole ex-wife thing…and I didn’t even like her anymore.  How could I perform if I was cheating on someone I actually still love?  She bears a–hmm.  Not a disdain, but a mis-appreciation of my religious beliefs.  Little does she realize that it is only those beliefs–and my looks–that keep me from fucking every chick I see.
  Nonetheless, I like to look at women, and she knows, and I have an active imagination, and she understands, and I talk alot of shit, and she tolerates it.  Usually.
  And so, if she believes me to be less than trustworthy, what would keep her from rationalizing it this way:  "If he’s gonna, I’m gonna."  Yeah, I said "gonna."
  And there could be other things, too.  Unhappiness with me, her history of being fickle as all hell, or a rekindling of an old flame or maybe feeling sorry for the guy.  She could have a fling, and I would never know.  Hell, what if she decided to stay up there, and leave me with her kids? 
  At two am, as I lay on my back staring straight up into the darkness, these thoughts overpower me, and keep me from sleeping.  Logic doesn’t have much to do with it.  This is the worst case scenario faery come to visit, and yank at my teeth.
  *And if she does screw around on me, boy, is she going to owe me–*
  Which yet another reason why I haven’t done it to her, because I don’t want to owe her like that.  Oh, yeah, and also because I love her.  That too.

  It’s not just that, but also not having her here to kind of keep me grounded.  I need a little motivation, a little reminder sometimes, of what I want to accomplish.  But I have so much going on I get distracted, and then I just flap in the breeze like a pair of long underwear hanging on the clothesline.  The kind with the butt-flap.  I have so much going on and so much to do that I didn’t do any of it, and then I lie awake at night worrying about the shit I didn’t do because I was tired and because I couldn’t get any sleep because I was awake half the night worrying about the shit I didn’t do.
  I’m in the middle of the last phase of this whole house-switching deal, and while the bank is working on that there is also a handful of little things related to it that I have to do, as well as all kinds of little repairs around the house I want to  make, need to make.  And all my little home-improvement projects.  And stuff to the cars, too.  They all need oil changes, and I need to work on the truck to give it to my son.
  And then there is that, the relationship with my kids.  I should have gone to see my daughter Sunday, but I was just beat.  I didn’t wake up until 130 because I closed the night before.  I woke up with a headache.  I ate, I watched a movie, and then I laid down again about 5, and woke up again at 830.  Repeat:  I ate, watched a movie, and then went to bed about midnight.  I don’t know when I fell asleep, but I remember seeing 230 on the clock before I did.
  And as always, there is stress from work.  The nature of the business I’m in puts me in close rapport with the market, which is even scarier, and it makes me fear for my job security.  Plus, what the hell is going to happen to interest rates?
  Sometimes I feel like things are on the verge of falling apart, everywhere, and I’ll be left to pick up the pieces.  Everyone leaves, my job(s) change or disappear, and I’m left standing in the rubble alone with a house I can’t afford but nevertheless have to pay for, and here come the barbarian hordes, crashing at the gate.  My cars won’t run, and I have no one to turn to for help.  I’m starving, and I’ve taken to trapping rabbits in the neighborhood for food.  At night, under cover of darkness, I run a hose to my neighbor’s house for water.  During the day, I sell flowers and contraband on the corner.  I speak in some Slavic accent, and I have a hump on my back, and walk with the limp.
  And for some reason, it’s always raining.  When it’s not raining, the sky is overcast and grey…


1 Comment »

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  1. You worry too much, mister. About everything, but mostly too much about stuff that doesn\’t need worrying about. I not only love you, but I really *like* you, you\’re my rock. And it\’s nice to know I\’m yours, too.

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