Misunderstood
"You aren't mad about the joke I made before are you?" he asked.
"No. No my mood has nothing to do with what you said," I replied as I went to get into my car and leave this evening.
My friend joked earlier on about my inability to call a true bluff. He joked about getting me some "how to" cards for poker after a couple of weeks of bad luck and a few sharks that began playing with us recently who whipped my ass.
Honestly, I just had to get the fuck out of there. I couldn't explain it to my friend. I needed to go home, check my email, perhaps blog, and just go to fucking bed. Maybe the poor card playing brought to light further self-inadequacies. Anxiety and fear began drilling a whole into my head around nine when I started playing. I knew I should have went home in the first place, but somehow I thought going out would make a difference.
Nope. I should have left work for home and curled up into a little ball on the couch. I feel less lonely alone at times like these instead of sitting there in a little fucking crowd where I am emotionally a million miles away from anyone else, trying to bluff myself and everyone else emotionally.
Work, that-thing-by-which-I-tend-to-define-myself, really is fucking with me right now. It's sad, but I really can't explain that to a bunch of guys who just do their jobs. Perhaps it was just better that I let them believed I got miffed about some card game. Revealing how fucked up you are takes courage too, and I spent all of mine yesterday.
I do know it was better to read this one blog in particular tonight. What fucking masturbatorial bullshit. If getting satisfactorily fucked is so difficult go shoot yourself in the genitals. And I sigh, and I think, maybe life ain't too bad. At least all I'm doing is complicating the process, but still seeking to be happy.
And right now, I'll take that anyway I can get it.
posted by Joe Blow @ 12/18/2004 02:50:00 AM
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