Pros: nice view, near radiator (warm), pot, Frank
Cons: small couch, near radiator (loud)
Let me tell you a story about rum, rain, and wreckage. Last night I finally moved to a new couch and this is what happened.
One month has passed now.
Each night I sleep on a couch.
The next will be new.
My friend gave me some brief advice on how to avoid losing your shit:
He said your brain is like a computer. When the system fails or short circuits, all you have to do to get it working again is go in there, find the fire, grab your extinguisher, and start putting out fires. That’s all you have to do, he said. And you can do this with anything, anytime you’re in a stressful situation. Just put out the fires.
And I asked, is it really as easy as that?
And he said, yes, it’s really that easy. Most people will lose their heads and make a mess of things, but you and I, we’re smart. We put out fires.
What a stupid week it’s been. I’m finally regathering my wits after a week-long drunk. It wasn’t too good.
It started last weekend on a Friday. I didn’t feel good and I felt like getting drunk, so that’s mostly what I did. Scott went out that night and I had the place to myself and some time to myself for once in a long time. I had some gin and got sad.
Saturday was just a hangover.
Monday was another hangover.
Tuesday I dreamt Aaron was hanging around as a ghost.
Wednesday I ate a pizza I stole.
Thursday I clogged Scott’s toilet.
But mostly I just ate marshmallows on the couch watching Freaks and Geeks.
This weekend was kind of fucked, too. Friday I got drunk with Robby and his girl Dre and we did a bunch of blow and didn’t get to sleep till 6am, since I kept them up all night talking their goddamn ears off and having another meltdown. I should stop being so open with people, I think. It’s a very unattractive quality, to just cry all over everyone all the time.
Anyway, I puked everywhere when I got back to Scott’s the next morning.
A long week of bad nights is what it was. I don’t remember most of it, and I’m sure I wouldn’t be proud of any of it. I’m just hoping for a better week this time.
And needless to say, Scott’s sick to death of me. Might be time to find a new couch, wouldn’t you say?
When you only eat once every three days, every meal is a fucking feast. With no place as home base the past weeks, food has been scarce. I feel like just way too much of mooch when I eat my hosts food, especially when I don’t ask them, so I try not to as much as I can help it. I mean, I’m already bumming around rent-free on the couch, for fuck’s sake. Anyway, I haven’t really been eating is what I’m saying. Mostly a lot of coffee and cigarettes. And beer and cigarettes.
But my new favorite thing to eat might be the hobo delicacy of all hobo delicacies. It’s what I like to call Bread with Spread, and it can find form in so many premium ways. Mayo and mustard sandwich. Toast with butter and banana. Toast with peanut butter, almond butter, apple butter, jam, jelly, fruit preserves, chocolate frosting. Hummus. Guacamole. Fake-cheese-spread-food… God, the list is endless and wonderful.
Anyway, I figure I can pick up a cheap loaf at the store and lug it around in my bag easily enough, and then depending on what types of spreads my hosts have stocked in the fridge, I just shave a little off the top and nobody ever has to know. I mean, who’s gonna notice a few spreads of jam missing? Yeah? Fuckin’ nobody, yeah? I’m in the clear.
Hello, October. You make coffee and cigarettes and sleeves and leaves. Looking on the brighter side of things today.
Pros: couch is alright for sleeping I guess
Cons: Scott, red walls, asshole friends, Scott
Staying at Scott’s tonight. He’s having a party because it’s a Saturday. Everyone’s outside drinking beers and grilling with music, and from inside on the couch it just sounds like a whole lot of noise. I have no interest in joining. Tonight’s one of those nights where I’m stuck in my head and watching some old scenes play out on repeat, and I’m full of regrets and guilt, and still I feel like shit about it. I’ve noticed it comes in kind of waves, and this one’s tidal.
I keep worrying one of them from outside might come in and ask me why I’m in here on the couch with my stomach twisted in knots instead of out there with them and the music and all the supposed good-times, but no one has come yet and I doubt they will, which is all okay by me. Sometimes some time alone is everything you need, but those times don’t seem come around too often when all your time is time spent couchsurfing, so when you do find yourself with some time to yourself, you might as well make the most of it stay in for good. Confined to the couch again. Always in someone’s space, it seems.
I just want to sleep and never wake up.
I saw a strange thing last night. Actually, a lot of strange things. I’ll say this: I got pretty fucked up.
Everything was just a little askew. Stuff like fake traffic signs like, you know, speed limits like “Yes” “Closer” and “≥ Fast.” One said, “Slow! Cats at Work.” A stop sign just said, “Fuck You” instead of “Stop.”
Objects had no functions, like maps with no names, ceramic basketballs, and inverted pockets.
Jazz bands played to no one on the boulevard.
Drunk cops patrolled the streets.
My friend Mandy and I cruised around Logan Square all liquored up and fucked out of our minds with a few cans of spray paint, a bag of cheap beers, and more reckless abandon than common sense. We tore up the avenue like a couple of hot fucks, leaving behind a disease of painted obscenities, piss and crushed cans, a few splats of vomit with a dash or two of blood, and the wild echoes of our shouts of intoxicated bliss. The people we passed pressed their eyes to the ground, and for good reason, too.
A ways into the night, we stopped for a smoke and parked our bad asses on the curb to give our sea legs a well deserved rest. For some reason my mind began to slide a little and I began to imagine God as this egg, just a regular egg, like a regular chicken egg, and I turned it around in my head for what seemed to me like a while. Then I said to Mandy, I’m thinking about eating God. And she sort of looked at me through the hair and smoke in her face and said, Like for breakfast?
And I said, Yeah.
And we danced in the street like two old stoned birds.
This is a weird time for me, and man, I gotta figure some shit out. Maybe this will help?
I think I’m still in shock. It’s been a week now since it all got weird and nothing is real anymore. Nothing makes sense. My head goes all fuzzy and sometimes I start to laugh, and I swear to God I have no idea why. Anyway, then I feel guilty laughing because no one else is, and there’s nothing you want to be laughing about anyway. Everyone else is either in tears or in some kind of zombie-state. And I guess I’m kind of a zombie, too, but like a different kind of zombie, like one that laughs for no reason and then feels bad about it.
I just feel like I should be doing something. Or like I could have done something. And now I’m not doing much of anything, just drifting from one day to the next. It’s like I’m hovering an inch above the ground and I can’t quite grab onto things, like magnetic opposites or something. I swear, I think I’ve unhinged my brain. It’s hard to describe, but it’s like things just aren’t firing anymore. I used to think I was pretty goddamn smart, I really did. I’d write all the time and I thought I wasn’t bad, really, and everything was fine. It was good. But lately I’ve been feeling dull and dumb, like I can’t do good brain-things no more, or whatever.
Then again, I’ve been reading about absurdism a lot, and I’m beginning to wonder if we aren’t all a little dumb. If that’s the case, I don’t feel so guilty laughing because I realize maybe everything and everyone is just as dumb as I am. It’s like this. This is how I see it. I picture a bunch of early homo-sapiens, some real neanderthal-types, squatting around and picking up rocks and checking what’s underneath them, banging them together, chucking them around, and chewing on them and whatever, all trying to find meaning in their meaningless world. Then there’s me, another neanderthal-type just like the rest of them, perched up on this bigger rock surveying the whole spectacle, and I’m laughing my goddamn ass off because I know they don’t have a fucking clue and won’t ever find a single answer underneath those rocks. Even the ones that think they’ve got it all sorted out, even they don’t have a fucking clue. And anyway, even if they did find an answer, some other neanderthal, some more advanced homo-sapiens or something, will just come up with a different answer or a better one, and in the end none of it changes a damn thing as far as I’m concerned. I still feel all hazy and shit. It’s all just absurd. We’re all just stuck in this place, just a bunch of dumb animals with clothes on, picking up rocks, thinking we’re smart, and trying and failing to make sense of it all.
Jesus, that’s dismal, but right now it’s what I’ve got. Nothin’ to do but embrace the absurd. And hey, this way I can laugh till I’m blue in my damn face.