I must have been drunk at the time
I think I miss my youth. I got drunk for the first time when I was 12. My uncle, my mom's little brother, let me buy my own beer to drink. I bought Miller of some sort. I killed the six pack and a couple shots of Jacque Daniels and the next two months became a dream. It took me eight years to drink a beer again. I feel like I'm dreaming again now.
My wife took a week off to see her family, well earned after the last month (read my last article). When she did, the world tilted on some obscene axis and my world went to hell. Friday, I worked late and had to come home to replace the brake master cylinder on her car due to a damn leak. The cylinder was only a few months old. The same night the kitchen faucet sprang a leak. The moron who owned the house prior to us incorrectly plumbed the cold water line and it rubbed a hole in the line. It has taken me five damn days to figure out how to remove this faucet. And I did it drunk. Or pretty close. Saturday morning I got this song in my head, and I wanted to record it on this irritable computer, but after reinstalling Windows (my mistake) the soundcard drivers never worked right. I have spent the last five friggin' days trying poorly to remedy this, to no avail. So I'm going crazy over a melody that won't leave my brain alone. Sunday afternoon I went outside to get a tool and found part of my backyard fence crushed by a hit and run. They were kind enough to leave plenty of paint and a wheel cover, so I plan on shooting them dead when I find this green-blue Chrysler product. The county cops were not quite smart enough to take evidence, so as a tax paying employer of these pork products I collected all the evidence for him. I was fortunate enough to receive a note with a phone number and a report number. I am beginning to dislike numbers.
Sleep is becoming alien to me, though I function poorly without it. I have noticed that I am picking up paranoid tendencies, and have difficulty exposing myself to the light. Wait, never mind, that's been going on for years. I feel lost, although I know what I should be doing. It pisses me off beyond belief. I have stuff to do, but no idea in what order to do it. It's not that my wife is gone, but her absence apparently has magnified the situation. Don't get me wrong, I miss her dearly, but I function rather well with her gone. Except now. I really think I've grown as a neurotic since she left. And I hate it.
I've had a word bouncing around in my head for almost nine months without being able to verbalize it. You see, I used to pass a road near my house when I was a young man. It was the most interesting name for a road I had ever seen, so I looked it up. It meant "of, or involving dispute; controversial". Yesterday the word came to me. Polemic. That is what drives me madder. It was there, in my head, dodging every neuron interaction and dancing on my cerebrum, all the while kicking me in my parietal lobe. Instances like that make me homicidal.
I have also decided that when I get tired of running over legless Guatemalan hookers I would like to run for a county political seat. You wouldn't even begin to fathom the influx of legless Guatemalans here. Something must be done. And I'm trying, but one man alone just isn't enough. There must be laws.
Speaking of Guatemalan prostitutes, I have become rather disenfranchised with the perky Katie Couric. The disinterest I thought I had for her I lost when she showed us microscopically what she had for lunch the day before. I'm not sure if there is a name for it, but I'm almost positive she's addicted to tan in a can or tanning beds. Which is sad, because every day her lips get thinner. Following my father's advice, never marry a girl with thin lips, she'll turn out to be a bitch. I guess my daddy was right. Imagine that.
My wife bought a book a couple years back. It happened to be a Chinese horoscope book. It turned out to be as useful as a "Where's Waldo" book. Granted, I did find out I am a water ox, and that I am completely incompatible with my wife, a dragon of some sort, I think. It also said this year would be bliss. I'm never getting anything dry cleaned again. Jay London also got kicked off "Last Comic Standing". The game is rigged, I tell you. I would hate to be a comedian in front of a stupid audience, really. When did one liners get such a bum rap? I tell you, this world is going to hell.