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Jeremy, Pivot: Exiting the Womb

May 11, 2017

 

Slowly harming himself more and more, Jeremy is in a drunken stupor. Reveling in the cosmos, the quality of his existence is fading. Foiling, mainly in excuses. It’s Saturday Night, and for his excitement for the day off tomorrow, Jeremy is aloof. Diving into his worsened state, he wakes up afraid. As if he had murdered a family with his car as they left some late night movie. He shakes off beads of sweat and sees that he is home. Ominously, he also finds that he’s laying faced down and naked in his living room. The door is opened, and his TV is missing. They’ve finally found my weakness. He says to himself, somewhat upset that he has concluded that he has 2 weaknesses. His head throbs when he gets up. It’s 4:30 PM and his phone had been in use. Fuck. He thinks as he lifts the phone to his face, his head waves back and forth as he focuses. I’m still a bit drunk. He thinks as he turns on the phone. Text after text to old friends from high school and one to Lexie. Nobody replied, probably got new numbers. Lucky them. He ponders as he sees that one message was responded to. Without opening it, he deletes the message. Fuck that. He then notices that he has a few messages from Shannon.

One message says, “I was hoping you’d be able to show up today… Maybe next week.” She didn’t bother calling him early in the morning. She knew he was wasted last night. He slowly starts to stand up when he spots his pants from the corner of his eye. He pulls out his wallet to 1 dollar looking back at him. A Good Night? He thinks disrespectfully towards himself. Feeling childish and tired he lifts his body upwards and upright. He takes a few steps towards his bedroom and opens the door. He had wished that there was a woman in his bed, waiting for him to return with a beer from the other room. Just to justify and make sense of waking up naked in the other room. Sadly, he had another night of coming home alone. The door creaked as he steps foolishly to the bed. The room smelled stale and his need to regain his composure, despite being alone, seemed more and more unattainable.

He knew there was something wrong the moment that he sat down. I’m rejecting my own body! Jeremy thought as he felt the wetness that had set into his bed. Shit, it’s piss. He thinks to himself as he yells the same words out. Cleaning up this mess seemed far beyond him. He thinks to himself, I wish I had a Mother, or a Maid, or a Wife Even to do this Shit for me. A woman really. He thinks to himself misogynistic-ally. As he pulls the covers off, multiple different piss stains riddle the mattress. He sighs to himself in defeat. Feeling that he needs help, he walks towards his garage, pops open the washing machine, and throws everything in without finesse nor care. The sound of his carelessness echoes throughout the garage as he drops the lid of the washing machine. He pounds on a few buttons and neglectfully walks away without dropping in soap of any kind. As he returns to his room, he makes a quick turn into the bathroom.

He opens the door slow anticipating the fear of what’s beyond, that’s when he spots the sink. Riddled with vomit and chunks of every color, it looks like a horrendous crime scene. One with full intent to kill, maim, and traumatize. Not necessarily in that order. He scoffs at how silly he must look, Oh to walk into this scene. The scene reoccurs in his brain, a drunken attempt to brush his teeth lead to his teeth being worse off than before. Perhaps he should eschew from brushing his teeth, but it always seemed to be the one responsible thing he would do in a drunken stupor. He swipes his bare hand up and down the sink to loosen any hard bits in it so he can wash it down the drain. He’s done this before. During this morning ordeal, which actually started way afternoon, he has one running thought, Fuck… Not seeming very intuitive or adumbrate, the word runs. Fuck is one of those weird words that has so many meanings, this one, in this case, is one of epiphany. He needs to change his life, because if he does not… Fuck.

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