His Dying Days

I will be updating this story as it grows into the novel as I hope it to.

1.

           

Consider this a farewell. I’ve waded beyond the depths of hopelessness.  There is nothing left in me. There are no drugs, drinks, or narcissistic masturbation rituals to soothe me. (Women helped for a while but their baggage required too vigorous a schedule.) If you called me angry yesterday you may have been right. Yesterday I could at least find happiness in getting the sleep that was long overdue.
            The first thing to go was my appearance. I haven’t shaved in months even though I can’t grow but a patchy, pubic s**t beard. My breath reeks like a hooker’s a*****e. For a while the only maintenance I sustained was a daily slathering of deodorant and hair rinse in the kitchen sink. Today, f**k it. I have more important plans (obstacles). My life is a constant tally of all the things that piss me off. First, the house is a mess and getting around is an absolute pain in the a*s. Second, I get to work one minute late. There goes my monthly inventive. Of course my computer systems aren’t working you f***s! Since Monday’s are my short days, I don’t get a lunch break. (You have no idea how horrible it is to be stuck at a desk for hours while your stomach claws and claws away, echoing the empty pit that you once referred to as your body.) I could at least appreciate the amount of pleasant customers I’ve had today, but I choose not to. I could relish in the fact that I am well enjoyed by my coworkers but I merely sit in red vibrations of anger while counting down the minutes until someone decides to shut the f**k up. I try to convince myself that I don’t make a living off of excuses; it’s all part of the game.
             I’ve attempted my own life quite a few times (probably more than idiot-trash-idol Kurt Cobain) and I guess that might be the only thing I’m proud of. I’m also proud of the fact that I’ve always wanted to have kids and things would probably be different now if I had had a few. I’m sure observing your son’s tiny chest work up and down as he snores to sleep would have an impact on your life. It’s too bad I’ve been trapped in this relationship with Jen for way too long and she’s too selfish to cough her uterus up for one.  Every woman I’ve been with in my life has cheated on me and I arrived home a few weeks ago to catch Jen doing the same. The least she owes me is a kid at this age; we aren’t in high school anymore and blowjobs don’t cut it. She’s been using an IUV for years and I wonder if it’s bad that I wish the worst bacterial infection upon her not so-private parts. It’s not that bad considering my s**t has been humping around in another (and another) man’s c**k butter for the better part of our relationship. Although I don’t think wearing a one piece swimming suit for the rest of your life is all to bad, I much prefer security to children any day and that’s why I always apply the heaviest brain filter in public.