Now that I’ve taken the first step towards either unbridled joy or horrific, soul shattering, life ending, breath abating, head in my hands, tears on the pillow loneliness and desperation, I wonder what step two should be. Maybe I should look into adding more alcohol to my diet, or additional injections of old blues songs for pain-wallowing. I’m always up for some pain-wallowing.
As for the girl, she sort of ignored me today. And the flowers have disappeared from her office. I don’t know what that means. But it does mean I will increase my prescription of Tony Rich songs and weeping softly in a corner, at least a little bit. Doctor’s orders. Maybe I need to get a new Doctor. I think mine hates me – or is incompetent. He once looked at a rash on my arm, said I had Supercallifrash, and prescribed me to rub a towel soiled with cream of mushroom on it twice a day while singing Ray Charles tunes. It did get rid of my rash though.
I guess I’m supposed to be nice now, and try to convince her that she should ditch the guy she’s seeing right now, and start dating me. But what if he’s a professional bowler or something? I can’t compete with that. Or what if he has, like dimples on both sides of his mouth, which show up when he smiles after he has said something witty? And she smiles and thinks, yeah, this thing will never end. Cause he’s a professional bowler with dimples, and all I got is a lousy scar on one side of my face that looks kind of like a dimple. But it's a fraud! I might as well just give up. Cause that bastard definitely won’t want to let her go. She’s perfect. And he probably knows what wines to order with dinner without asking the snooty waiter for advice. I hate people like that. Life sucks.
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