need to show her she wants me, no she needs me. That I’m something to be needed . That she will love me as much as I’m in love with her. God I sound like such a girl, maybe that’s it. I’m not an asshole enough for her to want and need me. She has to feel like she needs to win me, and not that she already has me.
O, fuck it; just take her on a date. Not official in anyway but something that to any normal person would feel like one.
That’s a genus idea. What, candles and a box of wine? Usually arguing with myself helps but, it seems like I’ve just been going around in circles lately.
A movie?
O now that’s cliché as hell.
Will, what the hell are you doing? Your best friend has just started dating her; kinda a lost cause now isn’t it?
Ya, well I’ve liked her for an incredible amount of time does that not count for anything?
You never called dibs though, not officially. No one knows what you’ve been thinking these last few months. For fuck sake you haven’t had a deep conversation with anyone, Grace excluded.
Ya but what good does it do when all I can think about day in and day out is how alone I truly am, and the fact that the last thing connecting you to your parents will be getting foreclosed on, and you will not only be homeless loveless and broke, but you’ll be falling into endless pit of a future that life has just kicked you into. Jesus, you just need some fresh air, some fresh life.
I pull myself off the couch, remnants of vodka mixed with blood rush to my head as the floor creaks beneath me. Walking into the kitchen I open the fridge taking some orange juice I chug probably half a gallon. God you would think they would make alcohol that doesn’t dehydrate you by now. I close the fridge door as all my art pictures from grade school flap in the draft. Pictures of my stick figure family sitting around the dinner table settle back in their rightful place. My stomach rumbles and aches from the apparent workout it takes to get off the couch and walk ten feet.
Grabbing my stomach I lean against the fridge. Ten seconds, ten seconds and I’ll be fine, right as rain. Squinting my eyes at the linoleum floor I take a few deep breaths soothing my stomach. One of my Picasso esc drawing of me and my parents holding hands floats into view then getting sucked halfway under the fridge, flapping in the draft of the compressor. I do the tremendous effort of leaning down and grabbing it before it’s gone forever. Pulling it out, I look at it. I remember this. We had just gotten back from our camping trip and my dad surprised me with some finger paint. When he gave me the paint, I mean let’s just say a second coming of Christ would have paled in comparison to how awesome I thought it was.
Standing back to my full upright position I place the picture back under its magnet, a picture of me on Santa’s lap. How did the fridge become the armature art gallery of every house in the country anyways? It has to be a conspiracy by the people who make magnets and fridges.
Gunshots ring out from my TV. It’s cell phone footage of what looks to be New York City. The caption at the bottom of the screen reading. “Live ammunition, accidently fired on Wall Street.”
The footage cuts back to O’Malley. “This was taken earlier this morning as occupy protestors stormed the main buildings of Wall Street. After dislodging the famous Wall Street bull from it’s base with a hack saw, several people left large duffle bags on the front steps of major Wall S treet firms and businesses. This particular incident occurred when a man in his late twenties seen being fired on in this video, had left two large bags on the main Wall Street steps. He then proceeded to carry around a teddy bear that appeared to have wires sticking out the back. Now, the bags as it turns out had only contained monopoly money. The bear also having no explosives. However, police have been treating this as a possible terrorist threat. And although
O, fuck it; just take her on a date. Not official in anyway but something that to any normal person would feel like one.
That’s a genus idea. What, candles and a box of wine? Usually arguing with myself helps but, it seems like I’ve just been going around in circles lately.
A movie?
O now that’s cliché as hell.
Will, what the hell are you doing? Your best friend has just started dating her; kinda a lost cause now isn’t it?
Ya, well I’ve liked her for an incredible amount of time does that not count for anything?
You never called dibs though, not officially. No one knows what you’ve been thinking these last few months. For fuck sake you haven’t had a deep conversation with anyone, Grace excluded.
Ya but what good does it do when all I can think about day in and day out is how alone I truly am, and the fact that the last thing connecting you to your parents will be getting foreclosed on, and you will not only be homeless loveless and broke, but you’ll be falling into endless pit of a future that life has just kicked you into. Jesus, you just need some fresh air, some fresh life.
I pull myself off the couch, remnants of vodka mixed with blood rush to my head as the floor creaks beneath me. Walking into the kitchen I open the fridge taking some orange juice I chug probably half a gallon. God you would think they would make alcohol that doesn’t dehydrate you by now. I close the fridge door as all my art pictures from grade school flap in the draft. Pictures of my stick figure family sitting around the dinner table settle back in their rightful place. My stomach rumbles and aches from the apparent workout it takes to get off the couch and walk ten feet.
Grabbing my stomach I lean against the fridge. Ten seconds, ten seconds and I’ll be fine, right as rain. Squinting my eyes at the linoleum floor I take a few deep breaths soothing my stomach. One of my Picasso esc drawing of me and my parents holding hands floats into view then getting sucked halfway under the fridge, flapping in the draft of the compressor. I do the tremendous effort of leaning down and grabbing it before it’s gone forever. Pulling it out, I look at it. I remember this. We had just gotten back from our camping trip and my dad surprised me with some finger paint. When he gave me the paint, I mean let’s just say a second coming of Christ would have paled in comparison to how awesome I thought it was.
Standing back to my full upright position I place the picture back under its magnet, a picture of me on Santa’s lap. How did the fridge become the armature art gallery of every house in the country anyways? It has to be a conspiracy by the people who make magnets and fridges.
Gunshots ring out from my TV. It’s cell phone footage of what looks to be New York City. The caption at the bottom of the screen reading. “Live ammunition, accidently fired on Wall Street.”
The footage cuts back to O’Malley. “This was taken earlier this morning as occupy protestors stormed the main buildings of Wall Street. After dislodging the famous Wall Street bull from it’s base with a hack saw, several people left large duffle bags on the front steps of major Wall S treet firms and businesses. This particular incident occurred when a man in his late twenties seen being fired on in this video, had left two large bags on the main Wall Street steps. He then proceeded to carry around a teddy bear that appeared to have wires sticking out the back. Now, the bags as it turns out had only contained monopoly money. The bear also having no explosives. However, police have been treating this as a possible terrorist threat. And although
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