Soul Sucking

I’ll feel better if I tell you how much it sucks to have huge wet and crusty scabs on my lips. Most of them fell off today. It was revolting. I made Nick sick to his stomach, just looking at me. Since he’s twelve, I could pretend I was going to kiss him to make a joke out of it. I told him we were the perfect pair, me with my revolting lips and him with his greasy hair that hadn’t been washed in a couple of days.

“Welcome to the teenage years,” my sister said when I told her I had trouble getting him into the shower unless girls are involved. I don’t remember having trouble getting into the shower when I needed to as a teenaged girl. Is that a boy thing? There are so many things about boys that I just don’t get.

After Nick went to bed, Mike and I watched an episode of ‘Weeds.’ I can tell you that he and I are very boring in comparison to the characters on this show. Who writes this stuff? Do most people smoke weed? I don’t think so, or maybe I’m just not getting invited to these parties. I was like that in high school too. At least I knew about the parties back then, the ones where someone brought beer and there was always a guy in one of the bedrooms with a joint. I just didn’t get invited. Oh, I know about some of the parties that happen now, the ones in which the moms bitch on Facebook until someone says they should all meet to drink too many mojitos. Yes, I have become boring. I don’t invite myself because I don’t want to get drunk. It’s no fun any more anyway. Because of the diabetes, or near-diabetes, I can only drink a half a beer before I feel all woozy and wake up with a hangover the next morning anyway. Hell, I can eat too many carbohydrates and wake up with a hangover the next morning. It’s also not as much fun watching other people get drunk. It used to be, but now it just pisses me off.

Why does it piss me off to see people get drunk? I don’t like the smell either. You know that smell, the smell of alcohol in the sweat. Maybe I get mad because it seems like a waste of time. It seems like a waste of creativity, of joy, of life. Is it, really?

Yet, I waste my life, playing games on my iPhone and watching stupid movies on television. Oh, I love the movies, but the commercials make me sad. They turn me into a simple source, a bag of blood for the vampires.

So why does it make me mad when I hear my friends complain and say they’re going to get drunk to fix a frustration?

I don’t know. I’m a prude, I guess. I’ve become a priggish bore, jealous of someone who can go out and fix their troubles with something so simple as a bottle of decent Merlot. I can’t fix my problems that way. I can only exacerbate them.

Is this really what you wanted to hear? I doubt it. I wanted to tell you more canoe stories, the stories of love, of what made me happy. I guess I’ll tell you what makes me sad now and then too. It makes me sad to walk into a bar, even with a bunch of middle-aged, middle-class women, with the sole purpose of drinking. It makes me sad to stay up late watching television, letting the vampire commercials feed on the blood from my soul.

Thank you for listening, jules


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