Well, that last one scared even me. It was too long ago to remember what I was feeling at the time, so there's no explaining it. Plus, my brain- and my creative abilities- have hit a wall that I hope is only temporary. Anyway, this post's about addiction. I'm struggling with an addiction of sorts, though not in the way you're probably thinking. I'm addicted to a particular jobs website because I'm having employment issues. Don't get me wrong- I've got a decent job, but things change, you know, life changes. I've been poring over job listings, sucking up all the time I'd ordinarily be writing or reading, eagerly rising at ridiculous hours, hurrying to log in and enter all sorts of search terms. One thing that's become crazy clear: employers should pay closer attention. With staffing shortages, changes brought on by the pandemic and workers emboldened by new opportunities like working from home, starting their own businesses and the like , it's looking from the amount of time I spend searching like employers aren't catching on and upping their salary game to keep up with what's going on. In my field of "expertise" which shall for the time be left unknown the salary ranges I'm seeing posted are insulting. But it's not only in jobs for which I'd be qualified. All fields seem to be sorely, disgustingly lacking. Many employers should be embarrassed by what wallet squalor they're offering vs. the qualifications they're looking for. I don't get it, especially in this age of new flexibility for job seekers. In my particular field alone there are countless positions requiring degrees and boundless experience, yet offering hourly salaries that would make highschoolers scoff.
Friday, October 1, 2021
i am an apple
You know that saying
i'm sure you've all heard it
or maybe even said it yourself at
one time or another
i have no control over where i landed
or how close to the tree
sometimes when you cut into an apple that appears fresh clean and wholesome you find a small dark spot
a spot of rot so to speak
a spot of rot that should be cut out
the apple is good overall but theres that dark spot and sometimes it grows until the apple should be
dispatched discarded and sometimes it just stays the same and no action need be taken
if the apple is never cut into the spot will never be found and the apple will appear insert air quotes here normal
Friday, September 17, 2021
A while after moving into the house my wife and I currently live in which, by the way, does have a beautiful fireplace, I realized that there was no clean-out for the ash pit. Was the cast iron hatch removed and the hole blocked up? Was there never one in the first place? Who knows. Curiosity got the best of me, so one day I removed the wood grate, lifted the lid & cleared the thick cobwebs and cautiously lowered my cell phone through the opening in the floor of the fireplace. Sure, it was a little discomforting putting my arm down there, but I really wanted to see what it looked like. We all find beauty in a wide range of shit, and the photos I took of the inside of our ash pit were, in my opinion, fascinating. And no, I'm sorry to say, there were no bodies down there.
|Inside the actual ash pit. The white spots are cobwebs|
Unless, of course, they're buried beneath the mounds of powdery ash and soot at the bottom.
Wednesday, September 8, 2021
I got sick of her bitching about everything, and she got sick of me just lying around, pissing and moaning. After a while I stopped going to physical therapy and lied about it. I knew she'd eventually find out, but I was caring less and less. I spent more time at Casper's, the shit hole dive bar at the end of our street, just so I didn't have to go home. I know, I know, home is where the heart is, and all that. I just couldn't do it. When I was home, we were at each other's throats almost constantly. Something had to change, especially with the baby coming. I just didn't know what. All I wanted to do was tie one on and forget about everything.
Fat chance. After she realized I'd drained what savings we had left she blew her top. She told me I'd either have to get back to work or go live somewhere else. She told me she couldn't take it any more. Said she didn't need no slacker hanging around making things more miserable than they already were. That was the final straw.
I'd needed to find a way to get rid of her but didn't honestly want to bury her out where critters would almost certainly dig her up and carry her parts off where someone might find them. One of the things that struck our fancy most when we bought this house was the fireplace in the middle of the living room. At the time I hadn't given it any thought, but realized after researching some things that there was no clean-out in the basement for the ash pit. There was a trap door beneath the grate up in the fireplace, but no way to clean out the ash that got dumped down it. "Well," I thought to myself, "no time like the present."
After I'd cleaned up all the mess from her and sealed the chimney down in the basement I headed down to Casper's to think things over. Any regrets? Should've used more lime, maybe? I suppose I might be just a little sad, and mostly for the baby. Will I miss her? Hard to say. Let's just allow some time for things to sink in.
Thursday, August 19, 2021
Moving to the secluded area out by the lake four states away from both our fucked up families was the best thing we could've done for ourselves. The toxicity had gotten overwhelming, the family drama nauseating. We knew no one would ever visit, and that's how we liked it. We were happy in our own little world out here. Nothing lasts forever, though. Sure, we'd joked about it aplenty. "You know, I could chop you up and bury you out here and no one would ever find you," I'd jokingly said more than once. She'd just laugh and agree, and everything would be okay. I picked up work pretty easily when we relocated, and we decided she'd stay home and take care of pretty much everything. First, she tried to respond with, "well I could do the same to you." Then, "I guess your boss would wonder where you were, though." Now, I know for most people, "jokes" like this would make one question the relationship, but we were, well, a little different. You know, saw things with a twist. One of the things we noticed when we first met was our shared off-kilter sense of humor.
We kept to ourselves, didn't care to meet any neighbors or make friends, and life went on. At first everything was good, we managed to put a bit in savings, and we'd settled into a nice quiet existence. Then I got careless while moving some equipment, you know, trying to be all macho in front of the younger co-workers and all. Then the baby came along. Ordinarily that'd be fine, but with the mounting out-of-pocket shit, my physical therapy and whatnot, and being out of work for so many weeks well, things just kind of piled up.
Monday, August 9, 2021
I suppose the worst part was his screams. God, he was so fucking annoying, like a little kid who skinned his knee on the playground. Big brother thought he could force me to scratch his back the way dad made us do his, but I wasn't having it.
I was trying to enjoy munching on the container of Poppycock that was typically reserved for the best-behaved of us, but since my brother and I were the only ones home and our father was out on one of his benders and likely wouldn't be back for another day or so, I decided to grab it from where it was hidden behind the flour and sugar up in the cupboard and claim it for my own. The screaming had subsided for a bit, but I guess he thought dad might be home, so he started up again. His fingernails lay in a grisly pile on the bathroom floor where I left them. Why should I have to clean up his mess? I'm the one who did all the work, what with having to find a decent pair of pliers, tie him down and all. He even gave me a few bruises in the process. It wasn't as bad as when I cut his dick off. Oh, he'd made fun of me one too many times. Told all his asshole friends my uncut little cock looked like a baby elephant trunk.
You know, Poppycock sure blows Crunch 'n Munch and Cracker Jack out of the water, what with the thick caramel coating, the pecans and all. This shit's delicious. Anyway, back to his dick. So enough is enough, I thought, and when he was asleep I rolled over, sat on his chest so he couldn't move, and used mom's pinking shears to cut it off. They sure were pink after that, let me tell you. I'd be willing to bet he'd never make fun of my pecker ever again. The screams came again, and he was really getting on my nerves. It was almost as godawful as when I started slicing across his fucking forehead. All I wanted was his scalp. I had no intention of taking off his whole head or anything. "What do you thing I am, some kind of animal?" I said as he groggily opened his eyes and realized what I was doing. I'd put some of dad's pills in a spoon, crushed them up and put them in his Kool-Aid at snack time, so he was out like a light. For a while, anyway. Up til then I'd only imagined what it would sound like, so when I started pulling the hair and skin back over his noggin' the tearing sound almost made me gag. It kind of came off in pieces, and I got bored and ended up leaving jagged parts attached by these weird little strings of meat and blood and stuff. It was kind of gross, if you ask me. The whole point was to embarrass him like he did me when dad cut my hair funny 'cause he was drunk. I had to go to school like that, and boy was I fuming. "Not gonna make fun of me again, are 'ya?" I said. I got no response because I think he passed back out or something.
Anyway, as I sat back and gave brief consideration to cleaning up the smears, splats and drips all over the place by now, I polished off the whole can of Poppycock. I know, I know, you're thinking, "Boy, this guy's got no self control. You'd think he'd save some for later." I guess this is why mom used to say we couldn't keep stuff like this in the house.