30 Years Old

Posted: June 30, 2007 in Dark, Life, Nihilism

My teeth hurt.
It’s time to get up but I can’t. My gums are stained red with blood and the wires threaded onto my teeth give me no place for my tongue to rest. 5:56 turns to 5:57 and I don’t care. 5:58 turns to 9:45 and there are three voicemails on the answering machine, waiting for me to perform the ritual of listening to machine-corrupted and staticky voices.
The phone begins to ring. I pick up the answering machine with the cordless AT&T phone sitting in its smug little cradle. AT&T’s display turns a vivid orange. I toss it on the Formica table in my kitchen.
The ringing follows me to the garage, slightly muffled by the space that is between the two areas. The dull sound of the ringing follows me to my hardware bench that I don’t use, a thing that is a prerequisite for every male out of college to have. I retrieve a ball-peen hammer, the Ace Hardware logo faded from neglect and dust-collecting.
AT&T is still ringing and the answering god decides to activate.
“Heeeey… It’s me, Rob… Listen, I guess you’re sick, so would you mind calling me back and-”
Yes, Rob. Yes, I would mind.
The hammer comes down onto the machine until it’s a pile of plastic and technological excrement.
My teeth still hurt.
I head to the bathroom.
As I step in the door, my bare foot lands in a puddle of old cat piss. I’m accustomed to this, of course. My cat is twenty years old, incontinent and a flaming homosexual.
He’s made it his job to piss in front of my door every time I take a shower. I wipe the piss up with my jeans and then put them on. Before I can slip on an old and stained Flogging Molly t-shirt, I’m gripped by a racking cough.
I lean over the sink and expel a mass of brown sputum onto the dingy gray surface. I decide not to take a shower and I put the shirt on, leaving the disgusting wad.
I head to my room. The teeth are driving me mad.
It is I that I am. I am the capitalist. I am the communist. I am the atheist, the satanist, whatever it is you want to call me. I am the all-singing, all-dancing crap of the world. And I can’t find my Playboy.

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