Blue

one

Arrghh. I roll onto my stomach, feeling the familiar nauseating, muscle clenching pain in my torso region, the pain ripping me from my dozing off. It was 4:19 in the morning, and even in the early hours of this Monday morning the city still bustled with life beneath my dirtied window, horns honking and engines purring. The dull, depressing light of the deli sign from across my apartment shone into my apartment, reflecting off of the many beer bottles on my coffee table. My cat, Tidbits, was curled around one, watching my with his wide green eyes as if to say, "Really? This is the slack off I have to live with?" Yeah, he probably hates me. Or at least mildly despises me. And, honestly, I couldn't blame him. I hate me too.

Getting sick after having a binge was always the fun part of being an alcoholic for me. Leaning over the clean white toilet bowl, retching until my throat burned, looking at the mess I've made, always reminded me of the sweet disappointment my family must be feeling for me. I know I am.

After my episode, I swayed into the living room, limps shaking with fatigue as I stumbled to the fridge, pulling out a water bottle and a small pill of Fentanyl from the back. Although it never really helped my hangovers, it does help with my other, mental problems. I swallowed the pill in a large gulp of water, feeling it as the water pushed it down my throat, as if the pill itself knew what kind of state I was in and wanted to stop me. Too late now. I finished the water bottle, tossing it in the recycling tin next to my fridge, paying no mind to it as it bounced out, for the tin was overflowing with beer bottles. Again. I'll have to take it out soon. I knew I wouldn't do it. It's just nice to think I did, you know?

Above my trash bins was my calendar, pinned loosely to the faded wall and hanging slightly crooked. A picture of a bright blue sky greeted me, white puffy clouds swirling happily around an even happier sun, the picture abstract in my depressing apartment. I've always liked that picture, but in an odd way. Not because it's "pretty" or "colorful" or any of that fluff. It was because I was jealous of it, of the peaceful happiness radiating in that picture, of the worry-free clouds lazily basking in the sun, of how happily the sun shines in the picture, bright and pure. I jealous of that. I like the picture because it made me feel something other than self-pity. Beneath the picture were scribbled notes, either charting my alcohol consumption or my emotions. They vary with every drink. Today, on the twenty third box, there was nothing, only a strict reminder of my job interview today. Oh, great. Job interviews were always fun. Watching the interviewers face as you walked into their office, face changing to accommodate their shock at how they thought you looked like versus what you actually look like. It was always interesting what they would do after that. Some of the more crude ones I met just straight out told me to leave, saying that my bum ass didn't belong in a place of "sophisticated work" while some of the more nicer ones sat through the interview with a fake smile then, after a few days of wait, told me that I wasn't qualified for the job. I never liked those ones. The people that would fake an emotion just to be "nice" are the people that will end up turning on you; like a starving beast, they can never be trusted.

No doubt, today will be like the many job interviews I've had in the past two months. The classic "hello, goodbye" as I call it. Quick, easy, simple, and who doesn't love simple?