(Second post of the day . . . how does a person who writes 1000 words and think it’s a memo prepare himself to write a one word suicide note? Practice, baby. Practice.)
I had dinner last night with a dear friend. Well, a dear friend last night brought Thai food and her sweet company way out here where I am – and I mean that (again) in both the physical sense – as I am far out in the country – and the emotional and mental sense – because I am untethered, without foundation, far, far out somewhere.
She posted this on Facebook (she told me, I didn’t see it, because I am not on Facebook any longer): “I had a super Thai supper this evening with Charles Smith. He’s absolutely glowing with health, looking fabulously pumped from the gym workouts and lack of nicotine. At least I think the glow was from the absence of nicotine but I guess it could have had something to do with the presence of Patron.”
I had one VERY SMALL shot of Patron. And by “shot”, I mean a shot as in a restaurant sized shot, not a shot as in the tumbler from which I usually drink Patron. And I had that shot because my very dear friend – in an effort to make me feel better about something about which I felt horrible and was explaining to her – ended up telling me some things that she knew would upset me, but which she thought I needed to know so I would stop beating myself up the way I was.
It is very difficult being my friend. Evidence of this is that I am down to 3 now.
But here’s the thing; I am a bit glow-y. I’ve been sitting out in the sun here too. (I know, right?) It’s the middle of nowhere and no one can see me, so sunning seemed the thing to do. And it’s so pretty here – look:
And I have somehow maintained the no smoking thing for – I have no idea how long – I do know that today I was about two seconds from buying another pack.
The question is, what the fuck do I have to glow for? The discussion last night centered mainly around why I have made the decision not to continue my life, so it seems somewhat oxymoronic to go to the gym obsessively (by the way – I don’t look good – I still look flabby and large and not toned and old) and to not smoke and now, to have cut back on my drinking. I mean . . . I fucked up my whole life, now I can’t even do death right? Well, I made a promise today – I’m going to write everything out before I pull the trigger, because in an act of extreme irony, my final note is going to contain only one word. I swear.
What a fucking fail.