Shit Balls and Sharpie

I left work early today after a phone call from my doctor. I made some calls myself to a few people. As per usual, Zach came in clutch.

Me: I mean… Yikes.

Zach: That’s a nice way of putting it. This might warrant a “holy fucking shit balls,” Jess.

Me: Thanks, asshole.

Zach: Eh, some things change. You and me? We’re constants. I’ll Sharpie your face in every bathroom stall to keep you around. I can look at you while I shit, and it don’t get much realer than that, sweetness. Now dry your eyeballs. You might look cute when you’re pissed, but you look damned pathetic when you’re belly achin’… stop that shit.

He turned away to look out the bar’s window.

I’m pretty sure I saw tears welling in his eyes. Fuck, this shit is getting to real.

I ordered two more shots. They took the edge off and put a fire back in my belly. And then I went home from the bar to cry some more and write this post.

My Family Gives Me NO BREAKS

I was really sad so I called my dad. I started to cry as soon as I heard his voice.

Pops: Hello?

Me: *sniffles* Hi Daddy…

Pops: Is this my daughter? Crying? Oh gosh. I’m gonna look at this menu. Here, talk to your Uncle Bill.

Uncle Bill: Hey, Jess. Watcha doin’?

Me: *sniffles more* Crying like-like-like a little b-b-b-bitch.

Uncle Bill: Sounds like it. You okay or are you just having a womanly moment? ‘Bout damned time you started to have those…

I actually feel a lot better now that I’ve spoken with my family.

Pops is down in Florida because my grandmother’s husband passed away on Friday. Friday was also my Uncle Bill’s birthday. Cowabunga.

End Game

I think I’m dying.

I’ve been deteriorating for a while now. It started slowly, symptoms easy to brush away due to stress or lack of sleep. Low appetite, restless nights, a nose bleed here or there. Hell, those could be a result of missing… someone.

My heart rate is sporadic, I stumble from a sudden bolt of fatigue, my visions blurs.

I passed out again last night. I called 911 when I came to, but then I remembered the price of an ambulance, the battery of tests they would run on me, and how hard it would be to escape from a hospital ward (nurses can tell when a patient is just making rounds or has the intent to leave). I told the operator I had just tripped and that I didn’t need any help.

My nose started to bleed. I stumbled to the bathroom and held toilet paper to my nose. And then I threw up.


I was afraid I’d die. I didn’t want to be alone if I died. I called Sam.

Christ, Fizz. It’s, like, two in the morning. This better be good.

I don’t want to die alone.

Hello?

I’ll be over in 15.

I think Sam was scared when he saw me. He kept trying to take me to the hospital. Fuck that. That’s where people go to fucking die or be mutilated. He somehow pried me away from the toilet and picked me up. I thought he was going to drag me to the ER. Panic. He laid me on my bed and tucked me in. He sidled up behind me and draped an arm around my chest.

I’m gonna call in sick for tomorrow.

Don’t do that.

Why?

Because if someone dies the world keeps goin’. That means you’ll be behind and a loser.

That’s stupid, Jessica.

Tell you what. I’ll try my hardest to die on a weekend so you can cry on your day off. Come Monday, you better be on top of your shit.

I’m wondering if I should write a will. I own nothing of value. Perhaps a letter to the people who mattered most to me will suffice.

To those who know me and read my blog, I’d appreciate it if you didn’t talk to me about this matter. I’ll get it checked out soon.

 

 

Anna, you cunt

They say there are two things you should never witness in your lifetime. One of them is seeing your mother cry. I think it should be extended to little brothers.

I saw Alex cry. He was wrecked. Torn. He’s one tough son of a bitch, but to see him like that… He sniffled; I put a hand on his back. I felt the hurt. A piece of my soul withered. 

Some cunt curb stomped his heart. If I ever meet this girl, Anna… I’ll ask her if she has a strong belief in the afterlife and if she needs to get right with Jesus or some other deity. 

Alex would’ve moved heaven and earth for that girl. Burned, bled, and gone blind for just another chance to be with her. I don’t know how I’m going to do it, but I’m going to make her suffer. Only an act of God or a call-off from Alex will stay my hand. Nobody gets away with hurting my family.

He told me last night he had a good idea of how I felt towards Michael after all that shit. God, I hope he doesn’t.

The other thing they say you shouldn’t witness is seeing the person you love fall in love with someone else. Alex can scratch that off his bucket list.

I took a lesson from Elsa…

And I let it go.

Crying isn’t going to get me anywhere.

And if I really cared for someone, I’d want him to be happy… with or without me.

I care.

I hope he finds someone that makes him happy.

But I must put him from my mind now…

Because it’s no longer my place to care.

Because I can’t make him happy.


Less than a week and I’m over it. I feel accomplished and mature.

Go me.

Hold Me Closer

My run was rather uneventful last night. No catcalls, no guys following or trying to talk to me, and certainly no one trying to start a fight. Or maybe there were assholes trying to start shit but I just didn’t hear because I had my headphones in my tiny ear canals (seriously, purchasing the right-sized earbuds is a hassle).

Thing is… I was asking for it. I was hoping the big, scary city of Baltimore would bare its teeth and throw me into a Colosseum to fend for my own. Instead I got homeless people leering at me for the paper in my pocket. Joke’s on them; I had none.

This was’t a very perspective aligning exercise (pun intended) at all. At least that’s what I thought until I got to Sam’s house.


I sprinted to Sam’s apartment (because Pigtown is the sort of place you shouldn’t dilly dally) and knocked on the front door like I was the Gestapo looking for Jews. The door swung open and there was Sam. “Get your ass in here, you dumb shit.”

“Hey, I love you too, you douche canoe.”

“Why can’t you be normal and just drink when you have problems?! I’m gonna move to a different apartment in a safer place so you don’t try to kill yourself on the way to my house.”

“I’m not trying to kill myself; I have a gun for that. I drank last night and it was only a temporary fix. Life and death matters tend to put shit in order, but that was a terrible run as far as life and death go. Not a single person took a swing at me. I was expecting more from a city that had riots a few months ago. Besides… who said I had problems?”

“Zach did.”

“That fucker.” I don’t like it when Sam knows about my problems. He immerses himself into them and I feel embarrassed when everything is on parade for him. He’s one of those people that has his shit together and I feel ashamed when he knows just how much I fuck up. But that’s typically how things work out since Sam and Zach are cousins and I shoot the breeze with Zach all the time. “So how much did you hear?”

“A lot of it. However much Zach felt like saying. He liked pointing out the fact that you turn into a little bitch when you’re sad. He said you cried too much over a guy who used you.”

That stung… and then it started to ache. I guess my face showed the hurt. “I shouldn’t have said that. Jess, I’m sorry.” I sat on the floor and started to cry. Zach was right about one thing: I do cry too much. Sam sat next to me and rubbed my shoulder. “I’m so sorry this happened. I know you liked him a lot. He doesn’t know what he missed out on. You’ll find a guy who treats you like one of those fucking lifeguard rings – he won’t let you go.” That made me cry harder. I placed my head on his lap; he patted my back. We stayed like that for a long while before I said I needed a shower and a change of clothes while I washed my sweaty gym duds. I did his laundry too as payment.

“Hey Jess, I don’t want you to think the wrong thing, but you can sleep in my bed if you want. Whenever I break up with a girl, I find that physical contact is pretty nice. I won’t do anything weird; I’ll just pat your back.”

“Well I sure as shit ain’t gonna say no to that.” And that’s how we slept. Both of us in basketball shorts and T-shirts, my back pressed against his chest, one of his arms draped over my rib cage.

It felt nice until I remembered I wasn’t curled up with Michael. I cried some more. Sam’s arm tightened around my chest, pulling me towards him. “You’ll be all right, little one. You’ll be just fine.”

I guess I will be.