Contact

Since I’ve started working downtown I’ve had no physical contact with any other human being. That’s not to say that I haven’t accidentally been shoved or shook hands with people in the new office or walking down the street. I mean I haven’t had any actual contact with anyone that didn’t involve Liability determinations in some way. I paint quite a sad little picture of myself, getting home from work, peeling off my murderous shoes, putting my manly slippers on, maybe a sweater and singing a song about someone being my neighbor. Maybe I’ll stand over the stove, sadly stirring some soup as I wonder how the ladies could pass up such a fine catch as me.

 I completely understand why people go balls out crazy on the weekends. There’s such a huge gap between the week and the weekend. As much as I can’t stand people I really miss them and I can’t wait for this weekend to spend some time with those knuckleheads. In the old days, when I could pretty much get to work whenever the hell I felt like it; I would go out during the week at least three times. I might go out on Wednesday through Friday and by the time Saturday came around I couldn’t figure out why the bars were filled with such crazy people. The week night bar patrons are immune to the pent up crazy of Friday and Saturday night because they’ve been out in the world and not just boiling some soup and going to bed by 10:00 every night.  Those Friday and Saturday nighters are filled to the brim with a week load worth of crap it’s no wonder they drink to excess and seek out physical company so aggressively. I have a new perspective on my passivity now.

Even though I’m still only in my first week back in the downtown rat race; it’s kind of like riding a bike. You never seem to forget how lonely it can seem in a giant metropolis. There are so many people around, moving like so many cattle through the train doors and through the station, all mooing and texting.  You never forget how riding the train, staring out the window, can make you feel small and rather inconsequential. It’s almost like I haven’t been gone for eight years.

The only thing that makes it slightly worse is all the beautiful women working downtown. I am completely addicted to beautiful women and they are everywhere. Skirts and those high boots that are popular now along with great hair styles and pretty faces; it’s basically a horror show for an addict. And I’m not a complete, “has to be Hollywood beautiful” type of guy. I mean there are an incredible amount of exceptionally good looking women working down here. I still feel like a Morlock. (You know, from H.G. Wells, The Time Machine.)

The thing about being an addict is that it’s not enough to get to indulge in the drug of choice, it’s that feeling that your drug wants you too. It’s great to go out there in the world and meet all kinds of women, but when none seem to want you or you don’t feel that they need you in some way, it makes your addiction to them all the more unbearable.

At least the sun came out today. That’s a positive. I’m looking forward to more sunny days and if I’m patient, maybe someone will want to share that sun with me. But for now, I'm going to slam my fingers in this drawer to make sure I'm still alive.

Ow! Yeah....... Still...... Alive. (ohforpetessake)