Hale

Work. Grudgingly I trudge off to work, muttering to myself, "Goddamn good for nothing work."

I take a short cut, halving the distance to four blocks, imagining fifty-nine ways to kill my boss.

My thoughts are interrupted by an incessant honking noise to which I plenty loudly reply, "Stop that godforsaken noise! I can walk in the goddamn street when I goddamn feel like it, you lousy bitch!" The rest of the trip, while anti-climactic, was accompanied by Bon Jovi singing "It's My Life" in my head, until I finally arrive at my grunge-metal pumping destination.

Looking up at the building that marks a low point in my life I think to myself, "Time to put on a happy face, time to pretend that life has meaning and that God actually wants a person with a broken soul." I went inside. The lighting was dim enough in the bar that if a person was drunk enough it wouldn't really matter how ugly another one was.

The next eight hours were quite uneventful. I served drinks and socialized like the normal person I am, goddamnit. I decided I would stay a little later so I grabbed a bottle of Jack Daniels and sat in a corner after my shift was over and forgot all my troubles. At 1 am I headed home, deciding that perhaps it might be best to take a taxi, if only because I was lazy from standing all night.

One taxi goes right freakin' by me and doesn't stop, so I decide to take matters into my own hands and jump in front of the next one up. It comes screeching to a halt and I got in, ignoring the profane-shouting of my sudden driver. When he quits I mutter to him where I wish to go and eventually we make small talk so as to resemble civilized people. We arrive at a place I loosely call home. I get out of the car while he waits for his payment. I kiss him on the cheek and tell him, "All I can offer is a kiss on the cheek in a crowd," then begin to walk away thinking awful good of myself. Apparently this currency doesn't satisfy the greedy man for he climbs out of the vehicle himself, yelling profanities at the universe once more.

I spin around beginning to seethe now, but just before the welcome confrontation Indie runs out and apologizes much too profusely for the likes of this scumbag, and then even pays the freakin' guy, just like many a silly time before. According to her thinking, being drunk makes me 'not in my right mind'. It's a shame people don't seem to understand how goddamn clever I am when shirking sobriety. Their loss.

I found myself standing in a vast desert with a big red sun shining in the background. Apparently I had been involved in a deep conversation with the cloaked man standing in front of me. That's not to say I actually remember what we were talking about, just that I was profoundly saddened and seeking comfort.

He put his hand on my shoulder and said, "Don't be so worried, one of these days you'll learn how to die."

Dream ending, alarm clock screaming. I grabbed the alarm clock, pulled it out of its socket and decidedly threw it across the room. As necessary as this action was, I needed to stick to my routing. I ran to the bathroom moaning, "Oh god, I think I'm gonna die!"

After my venture of expelling last night's scanty dinner, Indie suddenly emerged through the doorway with coffee and Advil ready-at-hand. I stood up, brushed my teeth, pulled my hair back, and took the much needed mug from her. I tossed the pills back and gulped down the life-giving Irish coffee. I thanked her kindly and stumbled back in the direction of my bedroom. She was about to go to sleep and she asked, "Where are you going this time?" I replied, "To get dressed. Don't ask." Indie shrugged her shoulders and walked off while I threw on some clothes and left to go keep a promise.