Everybody Knows Their Limitations

The good thing about not having to worry about publishing your s**t is you can be free as hell and you don’t even have to write well, if you don’t wanna, you can stop, take a sip of six of wine, pause, be in a state of repose for three, four minutes, while watching some guy sing “The Lord’s Prayer” on TV…even though I don’t feel very good right now, feeling down, insecure, like I ain’t got nobody to support me or love me, the tears will flow later tonight, I’m sure, but right now I’m just numb and dumb, don’t feel like comin’ or goin’ anywhere…can’t even finish that sentence…where do I go from here?...where’s my sanity?... As long as I can remember, people have been telling me not to limit myself…”You’ve got so much potential…you’re so smart…” They’ll often wonder why I’m working a particular job…or why I’m not further along in my career…f**k ‘em…Can I help it if I’m not much of a team player?

 

I think about her, then decide she isn’t worth it…she’s been calling me too often, leaving ten-minute messages on the machine, quoting Shakespeare and s**t…she’s not for me, I think…even though her body is…mmmmmmm…and her lips…I get all confused when I start thinking about her body…start reconsidering her…I shrug, maybe we could make a go of it…but then we have a conversation…(she does all the talking)…I bail after three or four minutes of her telling me she’s going to reupholster the living room couch and paint the upstairs guest bedroom…I think, a good guy would probably feel guilty about not listening to his girl…I fall asleep…wake up an hour later, the receiver’s on the floor…I pick it up, put it to my ear…”Ohmygod,” she says. …”It’s like this beautiful robin’s egg turquoise, it’s gorgeous.” Swear to God…she’s not one of those girls who expects you to acknowledge everything she says  or’ll give you a pop quiz whenever she thinks you’re not listening to her (which is why I’m so well-rested) …but then she’ll say, “What do you think?” and I’m stuck…”I don’t know,” I’ll say… “So you don’t think I should get her the matching platinum bracelet?” (Uh oh) “Well, it depends on how much you’re willing to spend,” I’ll say…”That’s true,” she’ll say. “The bracelet isa twenty-seven dollars…I love my sister dearly but I’m not gonna spend ninety dollars on the girl, I’m sorry…” When we finally hang up forty-five minutes, I crawl onto my futon, stare at the ceiling for a minute, figure I could probably marry her…