Sweet and low

All I can remember is that I wanted to kill myself. I wasn’t in any kind of pain at all. I was looking forward to it. Clean linens on a warm cloudy bed with my belly full. Bliss. An end to misery.

That’s all I can tell you.

I was tired. I’d never been that tired.

When I get tired I take a nap or go to bed.

Was I at my absolute lowest? Yes and no. I’d given up. Material posessions hadn’t mattered for quite some time. I was about to lose a molar but I was kinda cruisin on the blissful relief of vicodin and surrendering entirely to not giving a mad fuck.

There’s oceans of freedom in giving up hope. The first body of water is huge. The Ocean of Day to Day. Twenty four chapters, each an hour long.

Rough start. I was thinking I’d try again tomorrow. Go to sleep. Get drunk, go to sleep again.

Wake up in my drafty little house next to the quiet highway. My place faces east so my bedroom looks west and there’s a mountain range up close. The afternoon sun bothers me the least we can manage and in the spirit of cooperation, the wind whistles through my house.

Man I was tired.

Black cumulonimbus sentient over the mountains. No rain would come. It never does. I think I can smell it.

Shit day.

Customers pissy over the selection. What you see is what we have. No backstock. I hate having to repeat myself.

My name is Myrus. When I first started they had me as a greeter three days a week. I hate having to repeat myself.

My name is Myrus.

Leave a Reply