Throwing Up Thoughts

Sailing across the sea I notice a spec in the water. So small and tiny the spec simply floats. I can’t even make it out on what it should be or even what it might have been. Questions pop into my head, none that I can answer, but questions that I certainly cannot answer.

Questions comparing the human race to that spec in the ocean, more specifically myself, which in comparison I am comparing myself to a spec within a spec within a giant ocean. Thinking about it makes me seem so small and insignificant, extremely small, but more insignificant. The thoughts of me being small do not rein that heavy because I can see myself and my body looks huge, at least a lot bigger than that spec. I hate looking at small things at getting large thoughts. That is the reason why I hardly ever look up at the sky. Maybe if I didn’t throw up over the side I wouldn’t have been forced to look over. The thing with questions that don’t have any real answers, they usually end in more questions. Combustions of questions arise from a single non linear pile of questions only to be answered with more questions.

Answering a question with a question is a tricky thing as well, I am not sure if that counts as more on the questions side of the answer side. Nevertheless I get tired of thinking about this stuff. It hurts my head to the point of me throwing up. If I didn’t look at the floor panel and think of the journey it took to get here and how that is kind of like life, I would have never thrown up over the boat. I’m just going to go to my room and watch TV that stops the bad thoughts from flowing.

Beautiful Chance

She walks across the street. My eyes stare at her intensely, and I feel strange about it, now I have a glimpse of the mind a stalker except not dangerous or creepy, maybe a little creepy. Who can blame me, she’s beautiful. She wears a sky blue dress bluer than the sky itself, black heels, and a figure that turns my head three times around. She only knows that the light turned green and that a red car is honking at her to cross faster…maybe slower, I would honk for her to cross slower. I only wished I prepared better.

Today I darted out of the house barely wearing my shoes. My shirt completely wrinkled and missing a button I briskly walk down the street. I felt that a missing button would not matter much to anyone; it is common knowledge that beautiful girls do not like missing buttons. Half way down the street I acknowledge a mustard stain, nobody likes a mustard stain, nobody. In the fourth grade I went to school with a mustard stain on my uniform shirt, none of the kids talked to me that day. She’s too beautiful and the kids in my class were not nearly as good looking as she is. How was I going to talk to her with a mustard stain on my shirt? Then I thought about it, one in a million. Those were my odds; I did the math in my head. If I didn’t talk to her my odds stood at zero, so compared to zero one in a million seems great.

The cars zoom by me and I rush across the street. Almost getting hit by a Hummer, a Prius, and a Smartcar, I barely get across the street. I slip on the curb right in front of her, eating the sidewalk and clearly showing I am not a smooth operator. She kindly stops in front of me and steps over. I appreciate that she didn’t step on me, a true lady. As she walks away I shout, “thanks.” She turns around and gives a grin; this is my chance I thought, “Hey you want to get some coffee?” To my surprise she stops and looks at me for a bit, considering the offer and looks at her watch, shakes her head and shrugs her shoulders then she continues to walk. I am not sure what that meant, she probably didn’t have enough time, but at least she will remember me or have a story to tell her friends. Good thing she said no to the coffee, I only had enough for me.

Homeless Day One

I never felt the cold like today. Usually my body stays snuggled in a warm blanket and on top of a comfortable mattress, I miss that. Sitting on this bench I think about my plan to take action. Strangely my thoughts stop at “it’s so cold.” Closing my eyes I imagine the hot sun shining beams of rays on my face. It feels great, all the memories of good times pour in again.

My stove sits in my kitchen, only able to light one flame out of the four; I smile at the goofy green color as I walk to my room. A thin piece of drywall separates the bedroom, kitchen, bathroom, and my neighbors. At night I lay in bed and I listen to the water running through the pipes or the rats crawling through the walls, the temptation to punch through the wall and grab one constantly sits on my mind. Slowly I drift to bed, the temperature dropping and me thinking that the cold reached its limit. Surprise, surprise, walls prevent the cold and all sorts of things I never thought of from interrupting my sleep. Things like other people trying to pee on me or dogs bighting at my crotch. I miss my walls.

Losing my job and putting everything on my credit cards seemed like a good idea in order to hold me over until I found a new job. Surprising new jobs do not fall out of the sky, but guess what does? Bird shit and it covers my left shoe. I hate homelessness and I better find a way to come out of it, maybe playing the lottery or robbing someone will put me back on track. I should rob someone playing the lottery that way I can get a ticket and cash, but if I win I will share my winnings, see I know how to keep my integrity, it’s so cold.

Soapless

The invention of soap must have been a great day for the human race. Imagining a world without soap is horrifying and gross. Soap cleans so many things that it should be considered magical. If your hands touch dirt, use soap, if your hands touch poop, use soap, even if your hands touch fire, soap is used. Once I used a restroom that lacked soap. It was terrifying, how was I going to interact with the rest of the world without my disinfectant? Never again do I ever want to be in that situation.

It started out with me having to use the restroom, a common courtesy I take part of daily. I should have been more selective of my restrooms. Honestly I probably should have not passed up the McDonalds restroom and waited, but I did not want to be tempted by their delicious McRib sandwich. It is delicious, but I can only take diarrhea a few times a year. Walking into the gas station restroom I could tell something was off, it appeared cleaned. Strange enough I put the butt guard on the toilet seat and awkwardly continued to do my business. It felt strange not seeing writing or puddles of water in a gas station restroom, kind of like I was on a hidden camera show. Once I got up to pull up my pants I walked to the faucet and realized the soap dispenser was empty.

Now I know why it appeared cleaned, all the germs were invisible. Crawling all over me, on my face, walking into my mouth, down my esophagus, through my stomach, and out my butt, the germs, they were everywhere. I washed my hands in boiling hot water, but it did not help. My tears brought little comfort and even less cleanliness. Finally I walked out of the restroom, ashamed and embarrassed. Slowly stumbled over to the counter of the gas station informed him of the lack of soap and bought some hand sanitizer for fifteen bucks. It was a well spent fifteen, life seemed livable again.

Grunting Jones

Mr. Jones never said much. He just grunted a lot. Strange, for a man that speaks so little to begin with to decide on grunts as a form of communication. The people around him get him, so I guess that is all that really matters. His wife and kids understand what he wants and needs through his different grunts. I swear I have only heard about ten words come out of his mouth and not all of them were consecutive or always made sense. A woman one time walked by Jones and I, after viewing her from all angles we looked at each other and he looked me straight in the eyes and said “bubblegum.”

“Bubblegum” that is all he said. No explanation to what that means or what he was trying to get at, just “bubblegum.” I am pretty sure that the expression of “bubblegum” was not widely used while he was growing up, my father never mentioned to me of the word “bubblegum” and pretty women being used as a sexual description. Jones spoke in a manner that few people understood, but if you did understand him, you understood wisdom.

Every grunt and mumble meant something. In this world few things mean nothing and even fewer things mean something worth remembering. One cloudy day, my first girlfriend, real girlfriend, not just some girl I made out with during a movie, but a girl I bought popcorn for and watched the entire movie with, including laughter and simple holding, she broke up with me. I panicked, became emotional and completely irate. In my passion I lapped the town at least four times in both directions. Finally about dawn Mr. Jones stopped me with a cigarette in his mouth. He grunted a bit and then made a signal for a light. I brought out my matches and lit his cigarette. In a puff of smoke he said “hmmmm mmmmm grmm grmm grmm women.” That right there opened my eyes. Through his puff of smoke and words, grunts of wisdom, I understood that life blows up in people’s faces at times and not everything holds a distinct place, women are not exemptions to this either. Good wise Mr. Jones man of few words, but many grunts, if only everybody spoke so clearly.

Running Endurance

The day breaks and the sun slowly rises, the birds chirp and the crickets rub their legs a final few times letting the final thoughts of the morning flow through. I bend over to tie my laces and each loop and string I pull tight, in order to keep my feet nice and comfortable with security and speed. My back lines up nicely, a straight spine, strong legs, I take in one great breathe and I hold it, my eyes view the landscape that I plan on concurring, then I let it go and begin.

Each step touches the floor using the power of a locomotive and the finesse of a leaf gliding down the air stream of a subtle blow. My knees go up and down, my blood pumps through my veins, and my lungs fill and depress with air, all in unison. The faster my body moves, the faster my organs are forced to keep up. Making my organs move fast enough to hurt to the point of combustion, is probably one of the greatest feelings in the world. My body wants to quit and my legs gain weight, constantly I remind myself to keep moving and that I only need a few steps.

The miles ahead of me are few compared to the miles behind me. I started in front of a mountain, now it looks more like a plain, evenly distributed and easily conquerable. The fire and needles my legs feels does not stop me from finishing, I will not stop me from finishing, just a little more and I am finished.

Texting High School

Pounding a nice Irish coffee I start to feel great. My drinking buddy and I laugh at old stories of the days we attended grade school together. As we talk he brings up a pretty young girl that I crushed on throughout the sixth grade and into high school. He still had her number so I decide to text her with my cell phone. She replies with “who dis?” I tell her who I am and she remembers me. After a few text of me telling her how beautiful she was to me we send each other pictures. I look the same so I had no problem. Once I got her picture I sent a text that said, “NVM, I thought I was talking to a skinnier girl.”

She replies back with “Yeah at least I’m not ugly.” Sad because before she said that comment I was going to discard my comment and apologize. Some people though can bring out a side of a person that they don’t even know exist. Just remembering how horrible she treated me.

I always smiled and tried to be on my best behavior whenever she was around hoping that she would notice me, but nothing. She always walked with a jerk jock, which made fun of me. So angry and upset I text back, “I may be ugly, but I was born that way, you made yourself fat, I’m surprised your thumbs can hit single keys.” There was no response after that, but I kind of wished we would have hit it off, but oh well, another person from high school that I will never talk to again.

Drunken Mistake

Initially the day could not have gone any better. I walk on into the bar and pick up a bill that has a picture of Benjamin Franklin on it, giving me ten times the amount of money I had five minutes ago. My grin is big enough for everybody to see so I jump on the stool and I order a drink.

Once that drink is finished I order two more, then some for the people at the end of the bar, and finally a few for a girl that was wearing the lowest cut shirt with the nicest cleavage. She kisses me on the neck and tells me we should go back to her place. Naturally I call for the bill and I tell her to start the car and I would meet her outside. The bill comes out to be eighty-six dollars. I pull out the hundred and slam it on the table. The bartender looks and tells me I am going to need seventy more dollars. It turns out Benjamin Franklin and George Washington look very similar.

I give a drunken grin and take out the other ten I have and put it on the bar and run. My legs are drunker than I thought and I end up smacking the floor with my face. I jump up and run into the wall next to the door, and then I jump in the car. I tell her to drive. Later that night we start to get naked and I go for the condom in my wallet, which I forgot on the bar’s countertop.

Dream Dog

Playing fetch with my dog is my favorite pass time. I enjoy throwing the ball or frisbee and watching him run back. I swear no matter how far I throw it he runs back, wiggling his tail and letting his tongue hangout, ready to drop it at my feet so I can throw it again and again and again. A game like this usually brings boredom within a few hours, but since I play with my best friend I can play all day. People usually ask me who is my best friend and I respond with “Rex.” They look at me with a strange face asking “what kind of name is Rex?” I just laugh and say one of the best names.

The relationship between Rex and I started four years ago, when he was just a pup. One of the cutest puppies I have ever seen. A stout little puppy, yapping and barking in the most heartwarming manner this was literally the first time I ever thought I absolutely had to have something. I always wanted a beagle and on that day I achieved one of my life goals. On that first day I wore a yellow striped shirt and danced without moving my hips. Every day I wake up and wait to play fetch, sometimes I am up before Rex.

Going to work makes the time pass, but not very fast. I look at the clock fifty times a day and that is before lunch. My favorite day is “bring your dog to work day”, that is the only day I do not have to wait to see Rex and on my break we go outside to play fetch.

Night Outs

Night comes and I got to leave. Staying home at night drives me crazy and my legs get tiresome of staying within the same walls. Maybe if I did not know of the world outside. Every night I know something amazing is happening somewhere and if I am not out there the chances of me being a part of any of them stays at zero.

The other night I heard of a man running down Main Street in downtown without any clothes. Instead of people looking appalled and disgusted some of them joined him. A single naked man turned into a naked mob in the matter of twenty minutes. Those people ran for five miles, in the bare, without any running shoes. I on the other hand I was on the other side of town trying to find my wallet, which I discovered I dropped in the toilet in a fast food restaurant. The fact that I used a bathroom in a fast food restaurant definitely seemed bad enough but, my wallet smelling like that place all the time increases the grossly severe act ten folds. On my way home I passed through Main Street and I found a shoe.

That shoe is in a box in my house. This box holds all the things that happened at night, outside of the house. It is full of wondrous things. I have an apple core from a time the KKK marched through the streets; everybody threw rotten fruit at them. Their faces were red and their clothing ended in techno colors. Tonight should be a good night but, there is only one way to find out.