Working through some issues (Marr)
Dec 18, 2014 10:36:35 GMT -5
Post by Jack Lexington on Dec 18, 2014 10:36:35 GMT -5
MATTHEW DUNHAM
Staring at the shelf in front of me I get a little lost in thoughts. None of them are good. All I can feel is anger and disappointment. A big bad shitload of both. For two days I’ve been harbouring these feelings and they don’t seem to get any better. Mostly I’m pissed of at the female gender in general. Girls always act o high and might, they say one thing and mean another. They’ll ask for a spar and break you into a thousand pieces if you can, throw a flirty look, pouting of the lips and then leash out with words or actions to destroy you.
And I was stupid enough to let yet another one do it to me. As if my father hadn’t warned me, as if I didn’t know any better. I guess my love for Kyanite has clouded my judgement on girls. But she’s the same in some ways. She’ll sometimes tell me something and mean the exact opposite.
For two days I haven’t gone home to my place. Haven’t seen her or talked to her. I just felt like I didn’t want to TALK. Nor can I.
I gently move my jaw from side to side but the sharp pain that’s constantly flaring up prevents me from any further experiments.
Apple sauce, juice, milk, pudding is looking back at me from the shelf in a very unsatisfying way.
I’m hungry as hell but can’t chew a damn thing. I must have dropped three pounds since yesterday.
With a frown I suck a little on the stitches I my tongue and then grab a box of juice out of frustration. Half of the orange liquid runs down my chin but I don’t care. Maybe I want to hold on to this fucking grudge forever. It feels good.
On my way to the back room I whack my left knee into the punching bag that’s hung up in the hallway now and send a cloud of dust up in the air. I image it was this chicks abdomen..what was her name? Did I ever learn it? I hope she’s hurting just as much as me. No worse. I hope I fucked with her head as much as she did with mine.
Back in the small room at the end of the hallway, that I’ve rid of the old wall paper I get down on my knees again, put my mask on and grab the electric sander, that I’ve borrowed from my fathers company along with other tools, that I couldn’t afford.
It’s the only thing I can use at the moment because that foocking biatch (excuse my language) almost broke my left collar bone as well. I even had to tae off the spint from my other hand to be able to work on my future home. This room is the one I need to keep me going in a better direction. I have a plan for it. It’s a good plan, something nice. Something to balance me out while I’m feeling so damn frustrated.
Flicking the switch I press the handle bar down against the old floor boards making the room not only dusty but incredibly noisy.
