look, my better half is out of town. from tuesday night to friday night, i will have to (have been?) coming back to an empty apartment. now there are several reasons i don’t want to come home.
there is nothing to eat. i hate fast food but now i’m eating it on a regular bases of once a day because i can’t cook.
there is shit all over the apartment. ok, not literal shit, just stuff, ok? relax. we don’t have pets, there’s just stuff. all over. my stuff. all over. and i just move it every time i need the space for something else.
i really do have to do everything. not just feel like i do everything. but actually do it. totally lame.
my point is that because i’m so helplessly alone i decided to visit a buddy (i say buddy but really he’s an acquaintance, i’ll get to that later). he’s the guy who quit (i mention it in my first entry, which is very strange…it was thursday and he quit and i was thinking about how shitty everything was because i couldn’t just up and quit. and today i started to feel the same. the same exact way. and i started to think that maybe thursdays aren’t good days for me. then i arrive at miguel’s apartment and he asks me when he quit. how the fuck would i fucken know?! i cried “oh! here, let me get my calender of what miguel does every fucken day!” but here’s the thing; i do know and i just realized it now. what a vagina i am.) anyway, he smokes a lot of pot but is now moving away and since he’s moving back into his parents house he can’t take any pieces with him. he has a three foot bong with all these i-can’t-remember accessories, a bubbler made by some guy (and his girlfriend) who is apparently very highly respected in the pot-loving community and a small pocket pipe.
i nearly bought the bong. i had the money, i was going to pick it up after work i even stopped by and waited while he finished smoking out of it. as he packed it lovingly into it’s velvety looking case he explained to me how to use it. we had agreed that for the bong, the extra piece that holds water and three bowls, i’d give him one hundred and fifty dollars ($150). i took out one sixty ($160) and when i got there, lied and said i had only one forty ($140) in my pocket. now, why do i do this? i have no fucken idea. it was so incredibly fun. he asked me repeatedly if that’s true and i always answered yes. i told him that i don’t like to haggle but i just arrive with less money and see what i get. that’s when he believed me and promptly declared that he would remove one of the bowls and call it even. (i was glad. i’m glad he didn’t just give in. yes, ok i tested him. i test everyone. all kinds of social experiments and observations. this is the only way i get to know people. anyone got any other suggestions? keep them to yourself, i’m not interested.) i tried to argue with him as he said that two bowls was enough because one was to use and the other was “just in case”. i tried to explain that one was to use and two where for “just in case”. he then proceeded to comment on how i’d probably break it and i shot back “well it’s mine isn’t it? after i pay you a it’s mine and i can do what i want. i can go outside and smash it and it would have been money well spent!” wow. muh-lish-uh
s.
i backed out. he said “i’ve had that bong for four (4) years, and i’m just saying… don’t break it.” i backed out right then. i had to. he really had some emotional attachment to them and the first thing i said i’d do was smash it. smash it! for crying out loud! (louder!) i realized that i should have never even considered buying it. i had already thought of whether or not i’d feel bad if it broke. i came up with nothing more than thinking of the money i’d lost. you see, i’m very certain that in my care it would be broken. and all i ever thought of was the money involved (especially since i have bills, a student loan and rent to pay). when miguel said that, in all seriousness, i realized how sentimental i wasn’t. (aren’t.) i knew it would embarrass him, but i said it anyway; i simply told him i couldn’t take it because he was emotionally attached and i didn’t want to take his girls away from him. he scoffed and insisted it didn’t matter and he said many times “nah, i’m just saying”. but the honest truth is that i don’t respect that kind of attachment (unless it’s my own, you see). it was obvious that i didn’t respect it at all when i said i’d smash it all to hell. and yet he didn’t understand that he should not sell the piece to me. i had to catch my own evilness just to save myself from some petty regret. i explained later it was much like caring for a pet. you want to make sure they go to a good home and are treated well. but i simply couldn’t be certain that would be true. and i didn’t want the responsibility.
that is also why i don’t try new things, eat new foods or go to new places. things go wrong all the time, but i would never know because i spend a lot of time avoiding it. all i have to do is imagine a very realistic scenario and it might as well have happened because i feel just as terrible about it. this is how the mind of a worried person works. this is why i’m no fun. why i ruin conversations with inappropriately inaccurate facts.
i’m just selfish. i wanted the bong just to have it, not to use, just to beat the other people to it. i backed out because i wanted to save myself from mistreating some treasured piece of large glass and inevitably feeling sorry about it. and here it finally is; that is why it’s difficult to consider people friends. so. we’re acquaintances. someone called miguel and he mentioned that some girls were going to stop by and his other friends were stopping by with more smokage and his buddy parker was there and uh…..yeah…so we’re here.
he didn’t mention me. and i noticed. how can i blame him? i don’t call him a friend, how can he refer to me by name?
