Sunday, September 12, 2004

and reminiscing ...Part 5

Keep in mind that this is now the fifth part of what was originally going to be a three part transcription of the winter of 2000-2001. Realizing that you have happened on to Part 5, try reading the story's beginning so it all makes sense. In fact, read Parts 2-4 for an even better feel of the events of Part 5. With that in mind, here's the fifth installment...

I was awakened around 10 PM this Saturday morning by the sound of my phone ringing. I didn't move from my bed. I just let the answering machine pick it up. When I finally pulled myself from the clutches of my bed a few hours later, I looked at the caller ID box which, upon further inspection, displayed Drafting Guy's phone number. Curious if he had actually left a message, I hit the machine's "Play" button and listened. He was noticeably drunk judging by the tone of his voice and his message of "Stick your head up your ass and fuck yourself" only verified my earlier assumption.

After hearing that particular message, a rush of anger again flowed over me. A few minutes later, the phone rang and I happened to be near it and answered knowing already that it my friend, Scruffy Graphics Guy. He appeared earlier in the earlier chapters of this story as the one who pointed out that Busty Blonde was using me.

He told me that he had gotten a "fucked-up" message on his cellphone nearly identical to the one I had received earlier in the morning. It was coincidence for one that we had both climbed out of bed at nearly the same time and the second coincidence that we had received the exact same message from Drafting Guy.

We talked about what had happened the night before. As the conversation was coming to a close, he asked if he could stop by later. I told him that I had absoletely nothing to do and it would be fine.

I had the seeds planted for motivation but still never gave them anything to grow with. I, still in my pajamas with uncombed hair and breath that would peel the skin from an elephant's ass, grabbed a half gallon jug of orange juice and made my way to the couch where my remotes would be my company for the afternoon.

After hours of watching TV, I decided to make the transformation to become human as I was once was in what seemed so long ago it might has well had been a previous life. I bathed and made myself look presentable to those in the outside world. I dressed in as normal of clothes as could be found in my closet. I prepared my definition of a meal and turned on the stereo for the first time in days (I usually didn't listen to it during the week).

Around 8 PM on that Saturday night, Scruffy Graphics Guy showed up. He came in and we sat and talked. He decided that after the ordeal I had been through, I needed a drink. He remembered some alcohol he had left in my fridge and concocted a drink for me. Not wanting to be rude, I accepted it and promptly drank it.

The hours passed as we talked and eventually began to joke about the events of the past day. Looking back it seemed like it had been a week but was truly just over 24 hours. A long 24 hours, though.

We continued drinking and we eventually called it a night shortly after midnight. I cleaned up the empty bottles and cans and made my way to bed. With all the alcohol I had consumed, I was in for a restful night.

Sunday, after waking up around noon, I made a vow to do something with the day. I packed myself with some vittles from the Cafe de Moi (the kitchen) and was dressed and ready for whatever the day presented by shortly after 1 PM.

Feeling the need to escape this town, I got in my car after letting it warm for a few minutes and headed east on the freeway. A day of doing something, anything, would be an improvement over the previous day's doldrums.

I browsed stores freely and enjoyed, as much as possible, some holiday shopping and tackled the day. The big shocker is that I survived it. I made it through unharmed and after a number of hours and with darkness creeping in rapidly from the west, I decided that this would be a great time to make my way back home.

After the 45 minute drive back to my home town, I grabbed my things from my car and hauled them through the crisp, still air into my apartment. I sat the newly purchased items near the christmas tree in the corner of the living room and decided to watch some Sunday night programming on FOX. Being a fan of The Simpsons, it was a can't miss.

I settled into my comfy, familiar recliner and enjoyed the show. It was refreshing to be able to laugh at something considering the events that I had experienced in the past days. By 8 PM, I decided that I wanted some music to listen to rather than a rerun of the X-Files. I grabbed a jewel case containing one of my favorite CDs (still one of my faves) and popped it into the 3-disc changer positioned on the shelf under my TV in the entertainment center against the north wall of my living room.

I skipped ahead to the track I wanted to hear and sang loudly along. The band Less Than Jake had been brought to my attention by a great friend of mine I had known since the sophomore year of high school. I now had every CD they had released and thought of this song due to the nature of the lyrics. The manic tempo of the song only amplified my feelings of betrayal and rage. I listened and sang to this same song six times in a row that night before finally letting my exhaustion get the best of me.

I again took myself to the recliner after shutting off my stereo and settled in for what remained of the night. I knew that the next day was Monday and co-workers would have overly nosey questions about Friday night. I began to form my responses in my head.

There you have it, Part 5. Part 6 will appear tomorrow and will come closer yet to wrapping things up as we head down the winding road towards a resolution to these meandering events.

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