Jim

I was talking to one of my high school friends on Monday.

One of my closest, most meaningful friends in the world. I figured out last summer (2021) that these guys are everything to me. We met at Jim's house, 6-1 (Dave lives in Virginia), and I was emotionally supercharged.

I rarely see them. Instantaneous connection, instantaneous comfort, conversation, reminisences, laughter. This was life. It was love. It was defense against the world.

I wanted it to last forever. 

Jim called me on Monday to tell me a few of them are getting together for lunch next Wednesday. I immediately took the day off from work. I refuse to miss out on opportunities like this.

In the course of our conversation Jim said "I have no hope for this world." I agree with him. I would rather talk to someone like Jim who can be open and honest, versus talking to people who unconvincingly try to put a positive spin on life.

Life is a fucking nightmare. Especially now. We are facing the beginning of the end. republicans will gain control of the government next week and the vulnerable - you and me and every single person you know - are in for a world of hurt.

Culminating in the death of democracy in this country.

I would not give a shit, if I didn't have sons. If it was just me, fuck it, I am close to death anyway, who fucking cares if my life becomes even more miserable.

But I have sons. They have women that they love. They will be around for a long time, and I don't want them to suffer at the hands of politicians who are evil, vicious, and greedy. Infantile jerkoffs who think this is a fucking game. Until the dictator they enable comes after them.

I hope they suffer financially, emotionally, and, especially, physically.

The extreme opposite end of the spectrum from Jim is the Disingenuous Optimist I work with. I have spoken of him often in here. He makes me nauseous and breathes life into my cancer.

He better be careful tonight. 

The place I work is fucking insane right now - this week - nine shows in five days. That is fucking ludicrous.

I worked a show last night, I am scheduled to work two shows on Friday night and one show Saturday afternoon. The thing I hate the most about this job is working shows.

AND my boss is sick as a dog, and two of the people we rely on are not available to work so..............my boss texted me this morning to ask me to work a show tonight.

Final tally for me - five shows in four days.

Disingenuous Optimist will be in the box office when I get there tonight. He knows I will be furious about this situation. Nevertheless, he will say something incredibly stupid like "Isn't it great you get to work here tonight? You will have fun."

I may kill him with my bare hands. I will pounce tonight - I will shut him up and cut him off at the knees. I am tired and angry and I have no patience for his la di da approach to life.

One of the many reasons I love Marc Maron is he manages to be apocalyptic without sounding like a whiner. What he says sounds like truth, like logic, and it ain't pretty. About himself, about people, about life, about politics. He manages to inject humor into his opinions, which makes them more palatable.

Apparently I am not that talented. I have noticed people shying away from me recently, at work. Of course this is not a normal audience - these are extreme liberals infatuated with the arts. They want the world to be lollipops and kittens.

Anyway, next Wednesday will electrify my soul and bring me all the way back to life.

Tonight, a Disingenuous Optimist may meet his death.