Poop!

"bye for now" the subject line read. Off to la cosa nostra son. Won't be talking for awhile. Ciao!

The road down to that part of Baja is windy and mountainous. There are armed guards at checkpoints who can "confiscate" whatever they wish.

Here at "home" the nazis and bikers are raging pissed off having climbed my family tree. The extent of damage is unknown but I know this for sure: The library from where I've been posting is reading my ramblings. They spent 4 hours thumbing through my text as a matter of fact. I wonder what recourse I have.

The distance I have felt in my dad's voice recently comes as a surprise. The empty 'hellos' give me a little cause to worry. If I had to venture a guess, I'd say he's letting go because he has cancer and doesn't want me to miss him so bad when he really isn't there any more. But I should be happy. For the last year or two we've communicated wonderfuly and for those times, he will be missed; really and truly.

I have also lost a friend I'm afraid. Not the father I've been babbling about but rather a clown. A female clown. The whole thing came crumbling to an end just the other nite. I went to visit her at the circus and suddenly she's a catholic, suddenly her cat has cancer, suddenly her husband has kicked her out while he goes out of town leaving her without a key.

I think my co-worker found her and changed the course we were on. Oh well. It's really for the best but my pathetic attempts have now certainly failed. But that's why I went to the circus in the first place. I knew there was no future there for us. Only her. That's why I chose her to be my friend. There I am reminded of the inescapable truth that female clowns are constantly being propositioned by men with more to offer than myself. Most of the time, a female will allow you to think you've won her over and with time call you her 'one and only'. But in truth, she is being constantly bombarded with better offers; at least if you're me they are. So what the hell? Why not just find a real clown??? That's what I did and it has lasted me almost 6 months. Not bad. And what makeup! What a show! Some women who don't work at the circus could eat up twice as much of my life without ever making me laugh. So I think it was worth it.

The front page told me everything I needed to know. I leafed through its soggy pages and found diagrams of frogs with explanations of concrete matter.

"I thought frogs," but I interupt myself quiet in the security of knowing what I'm talking about. Up until a few weeks ago I would've been short of breath and wheezing yet here I am typing this.

Long factories producing short boxes fill the screen opening to a meat packer loading his day's truck. Coming and going. Leaving and living. The revolving door on Wall Street is stuck; filled with money and dry wit. "All roads lead to Mecca" someone said. I laughed.

Handy man Pete was at it again, losing screws he never knew he had. Uprooting the very fabric he stands on; what a fool. "Up with the sun" he says. I shun him. He has a disease. I mistake his usefulness for impropriety. I take lessons on the way home; sewing a blanket that maybe he can be buried in. Poor Pete. I hate that man.

Looking through the keyhole I spied a mouse. It was ordinary in size and had the unmistakable scent of oranges. His whiskers frisked the kickboard as he wandered lazily to and fro. I couldn't wait to unhinge the wax figurine he so closely resembled. I put on my shoes and prepared for battle. Along the way I found crumbs from a forgotten midnite snack; perhaps these are the reason for my unwelcome guest. I crept closer, ever closer and finally *SPLAT* I popped his corpse with the sole of my left shoe. It sounded a little like the sound I used to make with my emptied sandwich bag that my mom had so lovingly made for me earlier that morning. I put ammonia on the stain and stuck pixie dust in the keyhole. I was satisfied.

Now I find myself wondering how unholy the whole endeavor was to begin with! I stare at my finger-nails and ask myself what I could've done differently. "Nothing" is my reply. So for the next five months I'll be staring at my finger-nails and talking gibberish; unholy gibberish I might add.

There was this guy I had to learn about from the Bible called Job. He lost his family, his property, his friends, his health, everything.

God was testing him to see if he'd lose his faith in him. I guess God's loftiest and most faithful few must be tortured in this way...

Anyways, I am not Job.

Today is an important day. I will find out the course my life will have to take for the next unknown period of time. All bets are final. 91 minutes and counting...please place your bets.

I'm watching the bustiest librarian stack shelves. She is quite skinny yet still remarkably busty.

Her bosoms slide seductively against the shelf beckoning me to shout. But the ring on her finger says something else.

You're right. It's only fair that I give you some explanation of my abandonment.

Here's why: I'm tired, emotionally weak, and a bit lazy. My relationship with you is (and has been for a long time) too much work. Forgive my weakness. I'm just tired, and the energy, stress, worry, guilt, and fear that come along with our otherwise great friendship are no longer worth it.

But I DO care about you and want the best for you. I know the amazing qualities that made you my friend in the first place will help you make new friends and achieve the things you want to do in life. I just can't be there as you pursue these things.

I don't want to discuss or debate this. Though it makes me sad too, I've decided what I need to do. So, please accept my decision.

I'm sincerely sorry for all of the hurt and pain I have caused you. One of the great, reoccurring paradoxes in my life is that when I try to help and support people, I somehow end up hurting them. Please forgive me. My intentions were never malicious despite the outcome.

Now, that I'm crying at 8am on a Saturday morning, I better go.

Please leave me alone, and don't expect any further contact from me.

-C

My response:

I've already cried my tears friend. Your years of flaky shit haven't gone unnoticed. Good bye!