4:40 pm. Grey dips the afternoon in hummus and swallows. My head feels like a cotton balls coughing up more. Except the center of my head. Which feels like a freshly drilled hole in drywall.
Do you drill through fresh drywall? Why are we here? Why didn’t @yogagirl on Instagram respond to the video message I sent her? I’m not good enough. I’m not interesting. Stop being negative. Believe, Neo. You’re faster than this.
4:41 pm. The college website keeps saying my password is wrong. I retype. I jogged in this morning. Why is the password not working? Did they fire me? I email my boss. The one who says she’s not comfortable writing me a recommendation, but is comfortable with me working at the school. I ask if the server is down. She doesn’t respond. Classes start tomorrow.
Picasso. Bukowski. Who are my artistic role models? I’m drawing a blank. I don’t have any. Eminem. The podcast voice in my left earbud says we’re gearing up for a political war amongst factions. Game of Thrones is great art because it mirrors present reality. I’ve only watched one episode so I don’t know. I think people like the show because of its relentless nudity and violence.
4:44 pm. I saw one of my students at the gym today. After my yoga class. We made eye contact and she waved. I think teachers who evoke professorship as a pedestal they can stand on are full of shit and wasting time. I’m thinking I should resign the front of the classroom and move to the middle. Occupy Wall Street. Rub elbows. It turns the inquiry around. Says we’re all scratching our heads, wishing we could re-write the script.
The thin branches of the trees are barely budding. Children across the street are fighting. A boy and a girl. I’m lying horizontally on the blue couch. Which is on our porch. It’s yours for $75. Then I lowered the Facebook Marketplace price to $50. Now $40. Now $30. How about $20? What is a couch worth? What is a life worth? How about sanity? Discomfort is the life’s cost of admission.
The couch is yours if you look me in the eye and tell me something true.
4:46 pm. The kids across the street have stopped fighting. Now they’ve started again. They say meanie and no. The branches are barely budding. The cars go by. @yogagirl has a podcast which I shouldn’t say anything about because I want to punish her for not responding to my video. I’m the center of the galaxy, doesn’t she get it. No. Where is human decency? I’m so impatient. Her podcast was three and a half stars. Joe Rogan consistently gets 5’s.
4:49 pm. The kids are counting 1-2-3-4-5-6-7-8-9-10. Hide and seek, I presume. What’s for dinner? Spaghetti squash. Sourdough bread. What if I stopped caring about the future? What’s the difference between caring and worrying? An adult across the street yells fucking ass. I miss the context.
4:51 pm. Birds make noise. I don’t know which kind. Or how to describe the noise. The tree branches look like roots. Except they’re in the sky.
>>>> ///// >>>> Each morning, I sip16oz of drip coffee and pour my thoughts, angst, bewilderment, frustration, hope and boredom into The Alt Dad Diary which remains 100% free to read and is made possible entirely by passion and patronage. If you’ve found any joy or stimulation or potable water here in the last 8 months, please consider supporting my labor of love with a donation on patreon.com/altdaddiary. And if you already donate, from the brick bottom of my heart: THANK YOU.
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