(Scott.)
- Hey, did you bring any milk?
- Oh, hello, Janet. I’m great, how are you? – Scott’s roommate wasn’t the most polite person in the planet.
- Yeah, whatever. Did you bring it or not?
- Nah, pretty much every store is closed or has been broken into. Just go next door and ask Gary.
- Gary left. He went back to his parents’ house.
- And so we lose another one. Are you going to that university thing tonight?
- I don’t know, maybe. There’s only like another three people going. – Some students back at Janet’s university had weekly meetings where they talked about stuff. It was kinda like group therapy, except they only did the therapy thing for ten minutes, and then someone would take a joint out. It was quite fun, but lately hardly anyone showed up. Everybody seemed to be getting back to their families.
- Well, just wake me up if I’m sleeping and you don’t go. There’s a documentary about lions on tonight, and I bet it’ll be awesome stoner television.
- Sweet, will do.
As Scott went to his room, Janet turned on the TV and snuggled in the couch. TV was good. Most channels had given up on covering the end of the world, and just played re-runs of their best shows. The night before she had spent a blissful thirteen hours watching a Friends marathon. Not a single thought had gone through her head.
It didn’t use to be like that. Back when the first news broke out, she freaked out. Earlier than most people, actually. When everybody still seemed to think it was some kind of stunt, she was going to the supermarket and stocking up on batteries, canned food, torches, electric blankets and anything she could possibly think she might need in case of a big disaster. But the day came and gone and nothing happened. Well, not exactly nothing. The sky had been grey all over the world for over two weeks, breathing was hard and it was getting colder and colder. Some people had died already. The last time she had dared to watch a news program, the exhausted looking anchor had said scientists predicted another three weeks at most before the atmosphere collapsed completely or something dramatic like that. And when everybody started going crazy, she suddenly got calm. So everyone was gonna die. Big deal. If anything, it was kinda cool being part of the last bunch of humans to exist. She had even made a playlist on her computer of songs she wanted to play when everything went down. Where is My Mind by The Pixies was a favourite.
Six hours and one too many episodes of America’s Next Top Model later, Janet decided to go to the university meeting. She was running out of pot, and Cherry always brought more than enough to share with everybody. Might as well go stock up for the week. Grabbing her coat and a loaf of bread to trade with Cherry, she left.
Saturday, 28 January 2012
Tuesday, 24 January 2012
Scott.
Just something I've been writing for a while now. It's one story divided in parts, and I have no idea where I'm going with it. Here's the first one:
Scott hated Sunday mornings. The last time he remembered waking up on a Sunday morning without a death defying hangover was at least six months ago. He shielded his eyes from the grey light coming from the open window and surveyed the room. Clothes were all over the floor, an empty pizza box lay on top of an empty night stand and next to him laid some guy he had never seen before. Not that he could remember anyway.
Trying his best not to wake up his unknown bed companion, he got out of bed and started gathering his clothes. As luck would have it, his underwear was nowhere to be seen. Oh well, it wasn’t the first time he left some guy’s house leaving behind a souvenir to be remembered by. He was just about to put his shoes on when the guy in the bed woke up.
- Hey. – He didn’t look much better than him at that moment, but even through the eye gunk and the messy hair Scott could see he was quite gorgeous. Prettier than any guy he’d managed to pick up sober.
- Hey.
- Are you leaving already?
- Yeah, I’ve got some stuff to do. – A lie. The plan for today was the same as any other Sunday: lie in the couch watching Oprah re-runs, drinking water and cursing the invention of alcohol. But if Scott ever learned anything from eavesdropping the “women talk” his mum had with his sister whenever she felt like passing life lessons, was that men only keep what was hard to get in the first place. A failed reasoning, he knew, since he was standing in the guy’s room with no underwear on. But it was worth a try.
- Ok. I’ve got to go meet a friend too, so I’ll just jump in the shower. See ya. – And tossing the blankets away, he stood up, gloriously naked, walked over to the bathroom and shut the door.
Feeling that he would be quite insulted if it weren’t for the pounding headache he had to contend with, Scott put his shoes on and left.
There was a girl sitting in the couch at the living room. Scott half-nodded to her but she merely looked at him for a moment and went back to staring vacantly out of the window. Her eyes were red and swollen. She looked like she had been crying for days. Which she probably was. Lots of people cried nowadays.
Outside, barely anyone was on the street. A homeless woman pushed a supermarket trolley with a dog inside, mumbling quietly to herself, or maybe to the dog. A man walked with a girl no older than four on his shoulders. She looked ecstatic, licking an ice cream and carrying a teddy bear. The man seemed distracted; every now and then he would stop and look at a house, or a tree, or anything else in his way, and his eyes would swell up. But whenever that happened, the girl would poke his head and tell him that they should keep walking.
Scott shivered. Looking up at the sky, which had been getting greyer and greyer in the past two weeks, he wondered how much longer they had. The news had said it would all be over in ten days, but ten days had come and gone and everything was still there. Things were going to end, no doubt about it, but it seemed like the impending doom was playing with humanity, like a cat with a cockroach, giving them a sense of relief only to snatch them all up when least expected. With a sigh and a slight feeling of embarrassment over his tendency to come up with cliché metaphors for everything, Scott started making his way home.
Scott hated Sunday mornings. The last time he remembered waking up on a Sunday morning without a death defying hangover was at least six months ago. He shielded his eyes from the grey light coming from the open window and surveyed the room. Clothes were all over the floor, an empty pizza box lay on top of an empty night stand and next to him laid some guy he had never seen before. Not that he could remember anyway.
Trying his best not to wake up his unknown bed companion, he got out of bed and started gathering his clothes. As luck would have it, his underwear was nowhere to be seen. Oh well, it wasn’t the first time he left some guy’s house leaving behind a souvenir to be remembered by. He was just about to put his shoes on when the guy in the bed woke up.
- Hey. – He didn’t look much better than him at that moment, but even through the eye gunk and the messy hair Scott could see he was quite gorgeous. Prettier than any guy he’d managed to pick up sober.
- Hey.
- Are you leaving already?
- Yeah, I’ve got some stuff to do. – A lie. The plan for today was the same as any other Sunday: lie in the couch watching Oprah re-runs, drinking water and cursing the invention of alcohol. But if Scott ever learned anything from eavesdropping the “women talk” his mum had with his sister whenever she felt like passing life lessons, was that men only keep what was hard to get in the first place. A failed reasoning, he knew, since he was standing in the guy’s room with no underwear on. But it was worth a try.
- Ok. I’ve got to go meet a friend too, so I’ll just jump in the shower. See ya. – And tossing the blankets away, he stood up, gloriously naked, walked over to the bathroom and shut the door.
Feeling that he would be quite insulted if it weren’t for the pounding headache he had to contend with, Scott put his shoes on and left.
There was a girl sitting in the couch at the living room. Scott half-nodded to her but she merely looked at him for a moment and went back to staring vacantly out of the window. Her eyes were red and swollen. She looked like she had been crying for days. Which she probably was. Lots of people cried nowadays.
Outside, barely anyone was on the street. A homeless woman pushed a supermarket trolley with a dog inside, mumbling quietly to herself, or maybe to the dog. A man walked with a girl no older than four on his shoulders. She looked ecstatic, licking an ice cream and carrying a teddy bear. The man seemed distracted; every now and then he would stop and look at a house, or a tree, or anything else in his way, and his eyes would swell up. But whenever that happened, the girl would poke his head and tell him that they should keep walking.
Scott shivered. Looking up at the sky, which had been getting greyer and greyer in the past two weeks, he wondered how much longer they had. The news had said it would all be over in ten days, but ten days had come and gone and everything was still there. Things were going to end, no doubt about it, but it seemed like the impending doom was playing with humanity, like a cat with a cockroach, giving them a sense of relief only to snatch them all up when least expected. With a sigh and a slight feeling of embarrassment over his tendency to come up with cliché metaphors for everything, Scott started making his way home.
Sunday, 1 January 2012
Bottoms up
Currently in a state of "Fuck everything. Fuck you, fuck the world, fuck Wellington, fuck everything.". If I were 13 and if this was 2006 I would totally have a greasy fringe over my eye and Simple Plan playing on repeat. But I'm 20 and this is 2012, so I'm just gonna lock myself up in my room for a while til I feel like I can leave without murdering someone.
And here's something I wrote ages ago and forgot to post:
- Hey.
- Hey.
- What are you doing?
- Spending some quality time with my friend Jack Daniels.
- It’s 2 in the afternoon, dude.
- So?
- So… That’s not very good.
- Not everything in life is.
- Very poetic. What happened?
- Pissed some people off. Having a bad day. Took the first drink to forget, and when it didn’t work I thought I might as well go ahead and have the next twenty four.
- Why are you doing this?
- I believe the technical term is “self-medication”.
- Don’t go all cynical on me. It’s not cute.
- Not cute. Ha. Good one.
- Stop being a jerk. We can talk about why you’re having your liver pay for your mistakes or you can go ahead and start planning your schedule around your soon-to-come A.A. meetings.
- I heard they serve pretty good snacks.
- Oh Rick. You’re a riot. Now, seriously, what happened?
- I told you. Pissed people off. The wrong people. And now I don’t have a job, I can’t pay rent and my life is pretty much over. But hey, on the bright side, I’ve thought of quite a few witty things to write on my signs when I start begging on the street.
- Just look for another job.
- Please. You know how long it took me to get that one. If I start looking now I might be able to find something around 2034.
- So you’re just gonna spend all the little money you have left on booze and then go sit at some street corner asking people for money so you can buy more booze, is that it?
- Well, not entirely. I might turn some tricks too.
- Fuck it then. Drink your misery away. Call me tomorrow if you don’t end up drowning on your vomit.
- Will do. Although, having my very own Jimi Hendrix moment is starting to sound pretty good right now.
- I know what you’re doing by the way.
- Really? And what am I doing?
- Crying for help and masking it with sarcasm so not to look weak while doing it. Really Rick, I expected more from you.
- Yeah well, you don’t seem to be doing a particularly terrific job of helping me, now are you?
- Excuse me for not wanting to be abused. You want help, sober up and ask for it.
- Well darling, we both know I’m not gonna sober up for a while. Tell you what: why don’t we start working on levelling the playing field and you sit down and have a drink with me?
- Seriously?
- C’mon. Jack here is quite the charming companion after you get to know him.
- And when does that happen?
- Around the fifth shot. Come, drink. Let’s celebrate the end of my happiness. We can mourn the death of all my ambitions tomorrow over a jug of water and a few aspirins.
- Fine. But don’t ever say I’m not a supportive friend.
- I would never say that, honey.
- You pretty much did 30 seconds ago.
- Did I? Well, maybe it’s starting to work and I’m finally forgetting. Now, bottoms up!
And here's something I wrote ages ago and forgot to post:
- Hey.
- Hey.
- What are you doing?
- Spending some quality time with my friend Jack Daniels.
- It’s 2 in the afternoon, dude.
- So?
- So… That’s not very good.
- Not everything in life is.
- Very poetic. What happened?
- Pissed some people off. Having a bad day. Took the first drink to forget, and when it didn’t work I thought I might as well go ahead and have the next twenty four.
- Why are you doing this?
- I believe the technical term is “self-medication”.
- Don’t go all cynical on me. It’s not cute.
- Not cute. Ha. Good one.
- Stop being a jerk. We can talk about why you’re having your liver pay for your mistakes or you can go ahead and start planning your schedule around your soon-to-come A.A. meetings.
- I heard they serve pretty good snacks.
- Oh Rick. You’re a riot. Now, seriously, what happened?
- I told you. Pissed people off. The wrong people. And now I don’t have a job, I can’t pay rent and my life is pretty much over. But hey, on the bright side, I’ve thought of quite a few witty things to write on my signs when I start begging on the street.
- Just look for another job.
- Please. You know how long it took me to get that one. If I start looking now I might be able to find something around 2034.
- So you’re just gonna spend all the little money you have left on booze and then go sit at some street corner asking people for money so you can buy more booze, is that it?
- Well, not entirely. I might turn some tricks too.
- Fuck it then. Drink your misery away. Call me tomorrow if you don’t end up drowning on your vomit.
- Will do. Although, having my very own Jimi Hendrix moment is starting to sound pretty good right now.
- I know what you’re doing by the way.
- Really? And what am I doing?
- Crying for help and masking it with sarcasm so not to look weak while doing it. Really Rick, I expected more from you.
- Yeah well, you don’t seem to be doing a particularly terrific job of helping me, now are you?
- Excuse me for not wanting to be abused. You want help, sober up and ask for it.
- Well darling, we both know I’m not gonna sober up for a while. Tell you what: why don’t we start working on levelling the playing field and you sit down and have a drink with me?
- Seriously?
- C’mon. Jack here is quite the charming companion after you get to know him.
- And when does that happen?
- Around the fifth shot. Come, drink. Let’s celebrate the end of my happiness. We can mourn the death of all my ambitions tomorrow over a jug of water and a few aspirins.
- Fine. But don’t ever say I’m not a supportive friend.
- I would never say that, honey.
- You pretty much did 30 seconds ago.
- Did I? Well, maybe it’s starting to work and I’m finally forgetting. Now, bottoms up!
Tuesday, 11 October 2011
People
I don't get people. You know how everyone always assumes life is this incredibly valuable thing, and we're here for a reason and all that crap? I don't get that. Cause logically speaking, chances are most of the 6 billion+ people that live in the world are not special. Most of us are gonna go through life without ever achieving anything truly important, without making a difference, without leaving any kind of recognizable mark. Yet everyone seems to believe they are, actually, special. And then they look at me weird when I say I don't really think there's much point to anything. At the end of the day, I'm not gonna have a kick ass career, or become famous, or earn millions. I'm just gonna find a normal job, get a house for myself and spend my days living the comfortable yet purposeless life of a middle class guy. Does believing that means there's something wrong with me, or deep down everyone knows it but no one acknowledges it?
Sunday, 3 July 2011
Neighbor
Taylor had an interesting neighbor. She had never seen him, but since the walls of their apartments were thinner than rice paper, she could hear every move he made. Not only him, but also the crazy woman from upstairs, who stomped around her living room every morning and called her daughter every Friday to check if she had fed her fish. She could also hear the couple who lived downstairs, newlyweds who spent their afternoons telling each other how in love they were, and the nights showing it. But her neighbor was the only one she liked.
She couldn't quite remember how it started out. One day she was going about her life as usual, and the next she was sitting at the end of the couch to be closer to the wall, so she could hear him. He got up around 10 during the week and left around 11:30. On the weekends he'd never wake up before 3 in the afternoon. He liked to play music when he cleaned the house. He didn't cook much, she assumed, cause every night at dinner time she could hear his microwave beeping. He never watched TV, but watched at least 3 movies every night. Every now and then he would bring his friends over, and they would drink, laugh and play loud music til the sun rose. Sometimes he brought lovers to the apartment. She could hear their quiet whispers and kisses but always left before things got more intense.
She found herself taking work home, so she could spend more time with him. She didn't go out as much anymore, cause she didn't want to miss anything. After a while, even the cackling of the crazy woman from upstairs wasn't so bad, as long as she could hear the sound of him typing something on his computer. She knew how weird it was, but she didn't care much. There was something just too enthralling about her neighbor for her to worry about anything else.
One day Taylor woke up and decided to clean the apartment. It had been a while since she had bothered, so she changed her sheets, did three loads of washing, cleaned the dishes and gathered all the rubbish into two big black bags. She was always careful not to make much noise though. Her neighbor had a friend over, and they were talking about some French movie they had watched the night before. Taylor didn't know anything about French movies, but the conversation fascinated her anyway. Calculating that the 5 minutes it would take her to get the rubbish and take it downstairs was not enough time for them to change the subject, she got her keys, put some slippers on and went outside. And there he was.
Apparently him and his friend had decided to leave. For a few seconds she looked at him. She had imagined him to have brown hair and smart glasses, but he was blonde with bright blue eyes. He had a full beard, and wore a checkered shirt and old-looking jeans. Noticing her staring, he looked at her and smiled.
"You're the girl that lives next door right? Wow, I can't believe we never saw each other before! I'm Jeph."
"I'm Taylor" she muttered, painfully conscious of how red her cheeks were turning.
"Cool. Hey I just wanted to say I'm sorry. I know I make a shitload of noise, and you're so quiet! I feel kinda awful."
"It's alright. I don't mind."
"Ok then. Well, if it gets too bad, just knock on the wall and I'll turn it down a bit". Another smile.
"Ok."
"Alright then. See you later."
Taylor stood there for a while after he left. Finally, she took the rubbish downstairs, went out and bought an Ipod. She didn't want to listen to him anymore. Turned out her 'neighbor' was way more interesting than Jeph.
She couldn't quite remember how it started out. One day she was going about her life as usual, and the next she was sitting at the end of the couch to be closer to the wall, so she could hear him. He got up around 10 during the week and left around 11:30. On the weekends he'd never wake up before 3 in the afternoon. He liked to play music when he cleaned the house. He didn't cook much, she assumed, cause every night at dinner time she could hear his microwave beeping. He never watched TV, but watched at least 3 movies every night. Every now and then he would bring his friends over, and they would drink, laugh and play loud music til the sun rose. Sometimes he brought lovers to the apartment. She could hear their quiet whispers and kisses but always left before things got more intense.
She found herself taking work home, so she could spend more time with him. She didn't go out as much anymore, cause she didn't want to miss anything. After a while, even the cackling of the crazy woman from upstairs wasn't so bad, as long as she could hear the sound of him typing something on his computer. She knew how weird it was, but she didn't care much. There was something just too enthralling about her neighbor for her to worry about anything else.
One day Taylor woke up and decided to clean the apartment. It had been a while since she had bothered, so she changed her sheets, did three loads of washing, cleaned the dishes and gathered all the rubbish into two big black bags. She was always careful not to make much noise though. Her neighbor had a friend over, and they were talking about some French movie they had watched the night before. Taylor didn't know anything about French movies, but the conversation fascinated her anyway. Calculating that the 5 minutes it would take her to get the rubbish and take it downstairs was not enough time for them to change the subject, she got her keys, put some slippers on and went outside. And there he was.
Apparently him and his friend had decided to leave. For a few seconds she looked at him. She had imagined him to have brown hair and smart glasses, but he was blonde with bright blue eyes. He had a full beard, and wore a checkered shirt and old-looking jeans. Noticing her staring, he looked at her and smiled.
"You're the girl that lives next door right? Wow, I can't believe we never saw each other before! I'm Jeph."
"I'm Taylor" she muttered, painfully conscious of how red her cheeks were turning.
"Cool. Hey I just wanted to say I'm sorry. I know I make a shitload of noise, and you're so quiet! I feel kinda awful."
"It's alright. I don't mind."
"Ok then. Well, if it gets too bad, just knock on the wall and I'll turn it down a bit". Another smile.
"Ok."
"Alright then. See you later."
Taylor stood there for a while after he left. Finally, she took the rubbish downstairs, went out and bought an Ipod. She didn't want to listen to him anymore. Turned out her 'neighbor' was way more interesting than Jeph.
Oh, parents.
When I was about 6 or 7, whenever me and my brother or me and my sister would argue or fight, Dad had a rather peculiar punishment. He would make me and my brother (or my sister) hug in the middle of the living room for half an hour. Now, 30 minutes is aeons for a 6 year old, so there we are, me and my brother (or sister) hating each others guts and having to stand there hugging. The beauty of it is that it worked. After 10 minutes we'd both realize that if we had to spend the rest of eternity hugging we might as well be nice to each other. And so 15 minutes later Dad let us go, and we'd be laughing and talking normally.
------
I'm a Mama's Boy. I'm not ashamed of it by any means, it's just a fact. Mum always spoiled me a little bit, and I always knew I could go to her whenever I needed anything.
I started going to school when I was 3. School in Brazil starts at 7 AM, so at 6 mum would come in my bedroom and tell me I had to get up soon. I'd just go back to sleep. After a few minutes she'd come back, take me out of the bed, put me in the shower and bathe me. I slept through it. Then she'd lie me on her bed, put my uniform on me, carry me to the car, drive to the school, carry me to my classroom and hand me to my teacher, with me sleeping all the while. My teacher would put me on my desk and I wouldn't wake up til about 10, in time for recess.
And that happened every morning, Monday to Friday. And she had to be at work at 7:30 after all that. See what i mean when I say she spoiled me a little bit?
And for today's random news: I dropped the milk jug twice in a row at work today! I have no money! My flatmate is getting a game out today! I went out with my brother on the weekend! I found a flat on the internet that is just $68 per week!
------
I'm a Mama's Boy. I'm not ashamed of it by any means, it's just a fact. Mum always spoiled me a little bit, and I always knew I could go to her whenever I needed anything.
I started going to school when I was 3. School in Brazil starts at 7 AM, so at 6 mum would come in my bedroom and tell me I had to get up soon. I'd just go back to sleep. After a few minutes she'd come back, take me out of the bed, put me in the shower and bathe me. I slept through it. Then she'd lie me on her bed, put my uniform on me, carry me to the car, drive to the school, carry me to my classroom and hand me to my teacher, with me sleeping all the while. My teacher would put me on my desk and I wouldn't wake up til about 10, in time for recess.
And that happened every morning, Monday to Friday. And she had to be at work at 7:30 after all that. See what i mean when I say she spoiled me a little bit?
And for today's random news: I dropped the milk jug twice in a row at work today! I have no money! My flatmate is getting a game out today! I went out with my brother on the weekend! I found a flat on the internet that is just $68 per week!
Saturday, 2 July 2011
Blargh
Post-drinking Distress Disorder should be a recognized illness. I mean shit. I could just be a normal person and wallow in my miserable life while drunk, but no, I have to wait for the next morning just to add it to the pressing headache, the body pains and the shame.
Sorry about that. It's just that in MatLand hangover = identity crisis, and the empty bottle of bourbon on my living room didn't treat me very well last night.
And now I feel like going all '13 year old girl who just discovered what a LiveJournal is' on you guys, so brace yourselves.
My mind is stupid. I'm not particularly dumb per se, but the inner workings of my brain make as much sense as, I don't know, buying an AbCircle Pro and expecting it to work. I can be a lovely bundle of joy and hope for the future in one day, and the next day I'm alone in my flat, wondering when everything went wrong while tossing up if taking a shower is reason enough to get my ass out of the couch. A normal person would deal with that by talking to someone, looking up puppies on the internet or drinking heavily. Not me. I tend to prefer a solid two or three days of self-hatred and misery with just a bit of heavy depression on the side to spice things up. And it sucks. Big time. But do I do anything to change it? Nope.
See, Post-drinking Distress Disorder should totally be recognized.
Edit: Forgot the unrelated news. Here they are: We had a big flat clean up on Monday! I've been drawing a lot! I can make espresso coffee now! The stupid Rugby World Cup is coming soon, and I'm dreading the thought of working through it! I had chilli beans, canned tomatoes and cheese for dinner!
Sorry about that. It's just that in MatLand hangover = identity crisis, and the empty bottle of bourbon on my living room didn't treat me very well last night.
And now I feel like going all '13 year old girl who just discovered what a LiveJournal is' on you guys, so brace yourselves.
My mind is stupid. I'm not particularly dumb per se, but the inner workings of my brain make as much sense as, I don't know, buying an AbCircle Pro and expecting it to work. I can be a lovely bundle of joy and hope for the future in one day, and the next day I'm alone in my flat, wondering when everything went wrong while tossing up if taking a shower is reason enough to get my ass out of the couch. A normal person would deal with that by talking to someone, looking up puppies on the internet or drinking heavily. Not me. I tend to prefer a solid two or three days of self-hatred and misery with just a bit of heavy depression on the side to spice things up. And it sucks. Big time. But do I do anything to change it? Nope.
See, Post-drinking Distress Disorder should totally be recognized.
Edit: Forgot the unrelated news. Here they are: We had a big flat clean up on Monday! I've been drawing a lot! I can make espresso coffee now! The stupid Rugby World Cup is coming soon, and I'm dreading the thought of working through it! I had chilli beans, canned tomatoes and cheese for dinner!
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