haven't written in so long because, frankly, i've been too angry to say much of anything to anyone, much less type on a fucking computer to a faceless audience. and sometimes i feel like i'm only typing to myself. like i'm on a fucking island or something.
friday, in Rico's car, on the way to get alcohol for like the 4th time last week... in the middle of a huge fight already because i wasn't going to be drinking with him that night, and my cell rings. restricted. and i NEVER answer restricted calls. Nibbey is the only friend of mine whose number comes up that way, and she knows to dial *87 before calling me so her number shows up and i'll answer. so why did i think it would be a good idea to answer THIS call? maybe i wasn't thinking at all. maybe i just needed a break from the fight. but still, I NEVER ANSWER RESTRICTED CALLS. but i did anyways.
let me back up.
it was three days and NOTHING... and THEN this call. from a person i'd never seen nor spoken to. of course i lied my ass off, but my initial plan of action in the split second i had after the caller identified themself was to spill everything and leave VIP to clean up the mess. i was SOOOO angry that he could just hide like that... and HURT. i wanted to VOMIT, to puke up the angry mixture of emotions in my stomach. and i was in the car with RICO of all people, who was turning purple from trying not keep from screaming at me while i was on the phone (he was kind enough to wait until after i hung the phone up, and my tears didn't slow the fury any). deciding to cover for him as best i could, i tried to defuse the situation and appease my Restricted Caller by agreeing to disappear.
my brain was leaking as i hung up the phone. my shirt was sticky and red from the massive chest wound, and pure venom dripped off my tongue and down my chin. Rico's hatred fell on deaf ears. later in the evening i liquified the rest of my organs. woke up still drunk the next morning and went to work for 9.
and after the blood... STILL NOTHING.
- Nirvana "Smells Like Teen Spirit" -