... which is consequently followed by 'How th

I imagine myself in front of a group of people, each clinging to my every word as I preach from a pulpit about the wisdom I have achieved in this life. It is only the kind of wisdom that can be earned and learned from experience and many hours laboring and toiling over thoughts. For them I throw witty anecdotes from which they can draw forth conclusions about what it is that I am trying to tell them. I throw in a story or two on how to live life and how to avoid the mistakes made by this old man in his younger years. Perhaps they will listen but experience tells me that they will not. No people need to make their own mistakes and learn from the heart ache that is brought forth there from.

It is sort of a sad thing that we don't exactly have an ancestral memory, a sense of what it was that our ancestors did right and what it was that they did wrong. I wish it were so. Somehow it could be coded into DNA as a sort of message or warning to not follow in the footsteps of those who came before and learn from what it was that they did wrong. I sure could have used that sort of foresight. I am sure every could have. Some come closer while I tell you a story of why again my actions have consequences and a cum dumpster has the last laugh so to speak.

Time had had passed. A good amount of time. Hell a great deal of time had gone by and things were finally starting to make sense again. I was out of the funk so to speak, I was not dwelling on the past and thinking about how great yet another ex-girlfriend was and what it was that I did wrong. No, instead, I was making headway in my life. Progress folks. Progress.

Tears had all but dried up and I was just okay. I was trying to be mature. There was a sort of wonder to the sense of ignorance that I was experience. The situation was rather ideal in my own opinion. I was simply walking away and into the east while she into the west so to speak. That was at about the on set of the summer months which are currently winding down. That was when times were good and I had a strange sort of euphoric feeling of tranquility meshed with a lack of hatred for her.

Feelings like that are so rare for me. There is rarely an feeling of indifference towards people that I have met, know or have known. Impressions just stick and let me say that they often stick for a long time. That is something that is hard for most people I think. It is something that gets ingrained into us in some way. It gets pushed into a synapse or a cerebral pattern and just stays for an indefinite amount of time. These are the kind of hatreds and feelings that we pass on to our children, if not genetically, through word of mouth at least. And let me tell you that my children will learn to hate the cum dumpsters of the world.

Nevertheless, back to the story at hand. I am driving back to the appartment one day before the dent in my car came to pass. I am picking up a few last things, doing the last load of laundry that my clothes will see as far as Gateway Gardens is concerned. It is a Wednesday and game is coming up soon. It is about 5 or 5:30 in the evening when the phone rings. Brandon was right, I just should have deleted the number and walked away. He was oh so right. Just another example of us needing to learn from our own stupidity.

So here I am looking on in shock and awe at a phone call from that person who hasn't called in so long. How did they get this number. My mistake really. I added it to the phone. I made the error of dialing it just once while I was figuring out the phone. That is how someone got my number and that is how I was about to become some big emotional tampon.

First, let me clarify for you how this relationship came to an end. Toward the end the person, whose name will remain anonymous and I am growing fond of the term cum dumpster, had decided that the relationship was over. That is fair, that is fine and in fact had apparently come to the conclusion for some long time prior to the split. Instead of letting go and ending it in a proper fashion though the fear of my hatred is apparently so overpowering that it cowered the weak willed into staying for "my sake." Or at least until she found someone else.

Which is to say that there were subtle ways in which this was brought up. I guess I am not the average guy and the idea of sexy with multiple people at the same time just doesn't have the appeal that everyone thinks it does. Perhaps I am a little old fashioned or maybe I am just not a whore. I can't decide which. Note, to those who do such things I don't mean to offend, but really I just can't see myself with two other people and once and it just cheapens something that has already lost a whole hell of a lot of meaning to me anyway. I guess I am just not ready to take that leap into the gutter yet. Still, when you are dumb and in 'love' you agree to things you shouldn't and regret them later. The tears didn't help and the pleads that "I need this..." weren't helping either.

When you give a semi-coherent okay for something like that it goes without saying that the following would ensue. Tears and sobs and the realization of what had just happened. "It just happened." That shit is a direct quote. The cover is when I am told it wasn't the same and when it was done all that the cum dumpster could think of is me. Good cover. Well played. Lies covered with emotional bullshit. If you were really thinking of me you should have just dumped me in the first place huh? Oh for a biological memory, encrypted in DNA.

So shit just keeps piling up and up until my kindly gesture with a half a dozen muffins and a note that was written with every word meant. The heart still wants me to say those words are true but I can't be that stupid again now can I? It ended there and I would try to break completely after just one drunken night with a phone call for ice. There would be coffee at Perkins and lastly one encounter at that god awful play Lemon. Oh Lemon bitter sweet Lemon

Next, well like I had stated, time passed. There was a breaking off of it all. No contact. You can have Los Angeles, I will take New York City sort of thing. If you don't know the song it won't make sense. It is a good song though. But the truce was over, the agreement unspoken now was broken and on the other end of the line was a emotional load of crap and I was just a little ball of cotton that was supposed to stop it all.

Tears and sobbing are there when I pick up. Brandon was right in that I don't have to answer and I probably shouldn't of. What does one do in this situation? Probably asks what is wrong like most people. I can't help the annoyed tone in my voice. The stammering and "I don't knows." doesn't particularly help my mood.

Finally it comes out that she is having some huge emotional crisis because her friend is spending so much damn time with her new man-friend and not nearly enough with the dumpster or other people present. She feels all alone. Seriously? Am I supposed to feel some sort of pity for this? Really? I mean first of all you fucking dumped me and now you complain to me that you feel alone. Well you two share some special bond or some bullshit. You have never been this close to someone before. Same bullshit different year for you I guess because you pulled the same thing that time that what's her crack, the habitual liar left for "military academy." Am I supposed to console because your friend is happy and you can't share in her bliss because she probably isn't willing to relent to some hedonistic act with you to make you feel involved? Seriously what the fuck? You have no finger to point but your own and no one to point at but yourself for your situation. Grow up, put on your big girl panties and find another tampon to deal with this rag full of shit.

Then like some sort of ninja a bomb gets dropped. First I am surprised by the phone call to begin with. Second, I am annoyed by your pity party and if I had the choice I would hand your emo ass a bottle of pills, a razor blade and tell you not to come out of the bathroom until you were dead or got your shit together. The fact that you are pulling the same shit as you did that one time with the liar and the other time with the pregnant room mate where you show two faces isn't at all a surprise though. What is a surprise is the bomb set off in the back of my head and the one that is the primer for this rant of rants.

It is the reason you called me in the first place I guess. Your hormones are all out of whack. I get it. Fine that time of the... oh no not that. You tell me about the emergency contraceptive you needed to take the night before because you had to fuck some bumbling braniac who can't throw on a fucking condom and can't pull out on time. What a winner there. I hope your parents are real proud of that catch and what you two will achieve together.

That ends that phone call. Still I guess I am a sucker after all because there is more to the story. It takes place about two to five days later.

I walk to work now. On a night that was star filled for a city sky I walked with my new found toy in pocket. I ran a thumb across the smooth surface of the phone and played around with the idea of sending a text to Otter prior to walking in the door, just to see how hellish it was at the refridgeration factory on this humid summer evening. He sends more text messages than anyone I know. They are funny too. Just random thoughts. Well I was having a random thought of my own and trying to word it just right as the rectangular two story building came into view.

The text is sent and I walk in to a cool air conditioned breeze. It is the one redeeming quality of the place. The air is blowing and quickly washing away the sweat off of my brow. I go to my locker pick up my things, punch in and look at the schedule. I am down stairs tonight. Working downstairs has some ups and downs but mostly downs. It is a lonely floor to work on and the residents are twice as needy as the ones on the floor above. Basically they are like children who were told that every time they push this little red button they would get candy. And they push that button all night long for the most trivial of things. Downstairs with a nurse I like at least.

As per my routine, I get right into things, sharing a snide comment or two with the nurse, trying to keep a sense of humor. Ice is passed and asses are wiped for the first round. I am tired, I am sweaty and I decide to breath for a moment and laugh a bit with the lady in the white scrubs standing at the med cart. We laugh a bit. She tells me how excited she is to be going to work at the Dialysis center in the hospital.

Then the phone rings. The cum dumpster surprises yet again. Another phone call. This time she and her friend whom she is so lost without, have found themselves at a bar, most likely drunk, with no gas. Granted there is a station about a mile down the road. But, I guess she is a little low on cash because of the whole need to go on random trips with people and waste all your money. Not my problem. Didn't really want to hear the story. I got it shoved down my throat anyway.

So here I am at work, phone in hand with her on the other line and on the other side of town asking me for this favor. My thought, "Where the fuck is the sperm doner at this point?" Seriously, why am I the one to pull you out of this bind. I should have not answered and let your ass walk. I really should of. But we are "friends." Fuck that shit. I don't have the time to waste or the emotional stamina left to deal with all your shit.

But I go anyway. It is probably the higher road. It was the only way to look at her and see for myself that I had nothing good to think of when I saw her and that is that. I don't have any amazing things to say about it other than I had to walk nearly a mile back to my house to actually get my car. The nurse was cool enough and I did it fast enough that nothing happened in between. I forfeited my lunch to compensate for the time gone.

I guess, I still do the right thing even though I am an asshole. Still, don't get me wrong, I am an asshole anymore and I am aware of it. I have no kindness or sympathy for people and their situations.

Maybe I should just publish this shit in some sort of memoir.

What do people think?

Thank you.
Fuck you.
Lockwood.