Sorry for taking so damn long! I've just been really busy...
Suffer - Ch. 4
~
I hurt myself today
To see if I still feel
I focus on the pain
The only thing that's real
The needle tears a hole
The old familiar sting
Try to kill it all away
But I remember everything
What have I become?
My sweetest friend
Everyone I know
Goes away in the end
You could have it all
My empire of dirt
I will let you down
I will make you hurt.
- Johnny Cash
~
It's not like me to go to a bar with the intent of getting smashed and leaving alone. In normal circumstances, I would have cleaned my apartment beforehand because someone outside of 'the group' would be seeing it. But clean was only ever 'Joey clean' which meant throwing everything into that cabinet under the sink, because nobody ever looks there.
All of these weird bitter thoughts are in my head that I'm totally not used to. The drama was saved for Ross and all of his marriages and heartache. People expected that from him, so it wasn't a huge deal anymore, and that's why when he invested in those nasty leather pants it was such a hilarious shock. And it's the same with me. Everybody expects me to bring a new chick home everynight. Any drastic change from that overnight will probably cause a heartattack in at least 4 people. So better to lay low on all of this, maybe ween off. After all, Joey Tribbiani didn't have any "feelings".
I enter one of the first bars I see, knowing it's almost a miracle I haven't been to this one and take a seat in the back somewhere noticing that there's waitresses. ("Hot waitresses too, Oh yeahh - Oh shut up already.") A cute brunette waitress makes her round over to my table and I order a beer, knowing that I'm going to be getting to know this waitress quite well, because I expect to order about 20 more. I resist 'the line', not really feeling like making everybody love me tonight. It's fake love anyway, and who really needs that? Up to this day, I am not sure what love is, but I know I have never had it. Goddamn Chandler and goddamn Monica. They, I know, will be together forever. Ross and Rahcel is harder to predict, with their huge history and all. But ultimately I just know they're going to be living behind a cutesy picket fence with about 10 kids and a dog named Rover with 3 legs that they rescued from the animal shelter. Maybe *I* want to live behind a picket fence.
The waitress brings me my beer quite promptly and twirls her hair through her slender fingers as she asks If I want anything else. What else would I want? I answer, "I'm good, thanks," and she actually huffs and goes off. Must be the 'Days of Our Lives' thing again. So hard to be a famous celebrity.
Beers and beers later, I'm starting to feel sleepy. I stick my elbows up on the small, round, brown table and rest my chin in my hands. Everybody's dancing in front of me. Legs and arms are going everywhere. That used to be me. So what the hell happened? How did I go from the acting career of my dreams, having private parties up on the roof, and having others of envious of my lifestyle to no career at all - broke in fact - to having all these freaky thoughts about my life as I know it now. What the hell happened? Everyone else gets a well-paying career and a significant other (not just a 'bang buddy') and I have none of that. So what is wrong with me that *my* life turned so shitty?
The drinks keep coming. I'm still thinking all of this scary stuff. It's not like I like it or anything. Pizza, maybe I can think about pizza. A large pepperoni pizza with bacon.. and little bits of sausage (that I always said looked like rabbit poops) that I'd devour with a beer in front of the tv, in my recliner... alone.
Crap.
No thinking, no thinking allowed, more beers, that'll stop the thinking. Make my head so goddamn foggy that it'll be impossible to think of anything without blowing a brain blood vessel.
Having fun at your dinner, friends? I toast them in a drunken act. So am I. One gulp and it's gone.
**
I am never drinking again, as long as I live. Drinking is EVIL and it has just apparently added to my problems. I have never puked that much since my 17th birthday party when a friend Chris had decided to devote his whole paycheck to my drinks. I sit in my recliner, my head swimming and still foggy. I hear talking across the hall and there's more laughing. I hate the laughing, so I imitate it to myself.. poorly.
Somebody bursts in, it can only be one person. Chandler.
"Hey man, you just missed the greatest thing - ever. Ross got this lame chicken suit for Ben's birthday party," he pauses to make a weird face. I swing my recliner around and cross my hands over my lap. "So I dared him for fifty bucks to put it on and go ask out that hot chick who works at the newstand, you know, just down the street? He did, she totally said no, and now he's stuck in the costume, and he won't cut it off because it's a rental!" He explodes into giggles, swings his arms around and opens the fridge looking for a drink most likely.
"Ross and his funky costumes - what's up with all of that?" I respond with less enthusiasm that he had been expecting.
He shuts the fridge and looks up at me. He can tell something's up, that just how smart that Chandler is. Probably works for the CIA or something, since none of us can ever remember what he does for a living.
He decides to change the subject and he takes a seat on one of the stools in front of the kitchen counter, crossing his arms.
"So how was that hot date last night?" He beams for all the gory details. Details.. details.. I've never been good at that stuff.
"Yeah it was alright, you know.." I say back. The best I can do. The hangover sucks.
"You alright Joe?" he takes a leap and asks again, arms still crossed, now putting on that more "concerned Chandler face". I don't like that face. It's the 'pity' face.
"Oh yeah, just drank a little too much last night, heh, you know how it goes," I say laying on the assumptions pretty thick. He nods and laughs quietly.
"Hey, you wanna come over and laugh at Ross in his chicken suit? He's got to have to take a whiz by now," he stands up and points his thumb to the door as he's leaving.
"Naw, I think I'm just going to take a nap or something.." I'm tired as hell.
He nods again, throws his hand up for a wave, and leaves my apartment giving me a look almost saying, 'Come on over later'.
And my headache and me go to bed.
**
Suffer - Ch. 4
~
I hurt myself today
To see if I still feel
I focus on the pain
The only thing that's real
The needle tears a hole
The old familiar sting
Try to kill it all away
But I remember everything
What have I become?
My sweetest friend
Everyone I know
Goes away in the end
You could have it all
My empire of dirt
I will let you down
I will make you hurt.
- Johnny Cash
~
It's not like me to go to a bar with the intent of getting smashed and leaving alone. In normal circumstances, I would have cleaned my apartment beforehand because someone outside of 'the group' would be seeing it. But clean was only ever 'Joey clean' which meant throwing everything into that cabinet under the sink, because nobody ever looks there.
All of these weird bitter thoughts are in my head that I'm totally not used to. The drama was saved for Ross and all of his marriages and heartache. People expected that from him, so it wasn't a huge deal anymore, and that's why when he invested in those nasty leather pants it was such a hilarious shock. And it's the same with me. Everybody expects me to bring a new chick home everynight. Any drastic change from that overnight will probably cause a heartattack in at least 4 people. So better to lay low on all of this, maybe ween off. After all, Joey Tribbiani didn't have any "feelings".
I enter one of the first bars I see, knowing it's almost a miracle I haven't been to this one and take a seat in the back somewhere noticing that there's waitresses. ("Hot waitresses too, Oh yeahh - Oh shut up already.") A cute brunette waitress makes her round over to my table and I order a beer, knowing that I'm going to be getting to know this waitress quite well, because I expect to order about 20 more. I resist 'the line', not really feeling like making everybody love me tonight. It's fake love anyway, and who really needs that? Up to this day, I am not sure what love is, but I know I have never had it. Goddamn Chandler and goddamn Monica. They, I know, will be together forever. Ross and Rahcel is harder to predict, with their huge history and all. But ultimately I just know they're going to be living behind a cutesy picket fence with about 10 kids and a dog named Rover with 3 legs that they rescued from the animal shelter. Maybe *I* want to live behind a picket fence.
The waitress brings me my beer quite promptly and twirls her hair through her slender fingers as she asks If I want anything else. What else would I want? I answer, "I'm good, thanks," and she actually huffs and goes off. Must be the 'Days of Our Lives' thing again. So hard to be a famous celebrity.
Beers and beers later, I'm starting to feel sleepy. I stick my elbows up on the small, round, brown table and rest my chin in my hands. Everybody's dancing in front of me. Legs and arms are going everywhere. That used to be me. So what the hell happened? How did I go from the acting career of my dreams, having private parties up on the roof, and having others of envious of my lifestyle to no career at all - broke in fact - to having all these freaky thoughts about my life as I know it now. What the hell happened? Everyone else gets a well-paying career and a significant other (not just a 'bang buddy') and I have none of that. So what is wrong with me that *my* life turned so shitty?
The drinks keep coming. I'm still thinking all of this scary stuff. It's not like I like it or anything. Pizza, maybe I can think about pizza. A large pepperoni pizza with bacon.. and little bits of sausage (that I always said looked like rabbit poops) that I'd devour with a beer in front of the tv, in my recliner... alone.
Crap.
No thinking, no thinking allowed, more beers, that'll stop the thinking. Make my head so goddamn foggy that it'll be impossible to think of anything without blowing a brain blood vessel.
Having fun at your dinner, friends? I toast them in a drunken act. So am I. One gulp and it's gone.
**
I am never drinking again, as long as I live. Drinking is EVIL and it has just apparently added to my problems. I have never puked that much since my 17th birthday party when a friend Chris had decided to devote his whole paycheck to my drinks. I sit in my recliner, my head swimming and still foggy. I hear talking across the hall and there's more laughing. I hate the laughing, so I imitate it to myself.. poorly.
Somebody bursts in, it can only be one person. Chandler.
"Hey man, you just missed the greatest thing - ever. Ross got this lame chicken suit for Ben's birthday party," he pauses to make a weird face. I swing my recliner around and cross my hands over my lap. "So I dared him for fifty bucks to put it on and go ask out that hot chick who works at the newstand, you know, just down the street? He did, she totally said no, and now he's stuck in the costume, and he won't cut it off because it's a rental!" He explodes into giggles, swings his arms around and opens the fridge looking for a drink most likely.
"Ross and his funky costumes - what's up with all of that?" I respond with less enthusiasm that he had been expecting.
He shuts the fridge and looks up at me. He can tell something's up, that just how smart that Chandler is. Probably works for the CIA or something, since none of us can ever remember what he does for a living.
He decides to change the subject and he takes a seat on one of the stools in front of the kitchen counter, crossing his arms.
"So how was that hot date last night?" He beams for all the gory details. Details.. details.. I've never been good at that stuff.
"Yeah it was alright, you know.." I say back. The best I can do. The hangover sucks.
"You alright Joe?" he takes a leap and asks again, arms still crossed, now putting on that more "concerned Chandler face". I don't like that face. It's the 'pity' face.
"Oh yeah, just drank a little too much last night, heh, you know how it goes," I say laying on the assumptions pretty thick. He nods and laughs quietly.
"Hey, you wanna come over and laugh at Ross in his chicken suit? He's got to have to take a whiz by now," he stands up and points his thumb to the door as he's leaving.
"Naw, I think I'm just going to take a nap or something.." I'm tired as hell.
He nods again, throws his hand up for a wave, and leaves my apartment giving me a look almost saying, 'Come on over later'.
And my headache and me go to bed.
**