ericboy's Diaryland Diary ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- the route to the library Haven't been here in a while. I have to wonder how things are going in the land of ones and zeroes. I feel like that on a pretty regular basis. Some days I'm a one and every one else is a zero, other days I'm the zero in a world of ones. Odd, but nothing surprising there. In San Diego, it hardly ever rains, unless, of course, I'm walking somewhere far away from either my home or my destination. I know equate rain with the smell of my own bile, after waking up at a friend's house after vomitting on myself at four o'clock in the morning and then walking an hour and a half in the rain to make it home in time to sleep for one hour before going to work. How many times do I have to wake up like that before I decide it's enough? Hmmm, perhaps that answer is not so much to know as it is to be. Here's some random shit that I wrote the other day: the route that i take while walking brings me past some open establishments and i look in the windows to see the faces looking out at me. all looks of disgust and wonder at this freak with the audacity to be walking! down the sidewalk�in the daytime, no less. What�s this world coming to? Those people make me sad because they�re so fucking pathetic, feeding off the down-trodden. There�s a saying, you know: You are what you eat� i�m really lucky, the more that i think about it. the more i see of human suffering and individual triumph i realize that i�ve been dealt a pretty rockin� hand and maybe i should just shut my ass up and do whatever the fuck it is i�m supposed to be doing here. i thought this today as i crossed the intersection at Hamilton and El Cajon and watched a guy come the other direction, dragging his gimp leg behind him. he was using every muscle in his hip and back to not scrape it along too much and destroy the useless appendage God gave him. i admired his strength, and then i looked down at my muscular, toned, flawless legs. from the womb, i was blessed: all my fingers and toes, spine in alignment, brain fairly capable, relatively not-bad looking. maybe i should start acting like i appreciate this shit. when i got to work, i checked out reggie cox, a young black kid who has a very clean, able-looking face. i mean, the first time i saw him, i thought he was sizing me up, judging if he needed to knock my block off or just let me be. when i saw him start to walk away, i noticed that his body is a twisted mess of human motion. he seems to have some sort of palsy, and he gets around pretty fucking well, considering. he came up to my line to rent a movie. i asked his phone number so i could look up his account. he rattled it off securely though slowly, but with conviction. i could tell that he prided himself on knowing this information and being able to tell it to me. as i typed it in and thought of his courage and bravery, i struggled to hold back tears. i did a good job, but, swear to God, i�m crying right now. that tough little bastard really opened my heart up and made me see what a shit i am. he rented a playstation2 game, and i thought i overheard his caretaker saying something to my boss about reggie having a Nintendo gamecube, but i thought it�d be too hard to verify this with reggie so i let him leave with what could be the wrong game. i�m thinking of him crying because he can�t get the fucking thing to work and just blaming it on himself because he�s stupid and damaged. i fucking hate myself right now. i still remember his eyes; they looked like really deep eyes, like he had thoughts i could never have. reggie is a better person than i�ll ever be and i can�t stop crying. the cats are looking at me funny, like they want to hold me but don�t know how. i hear one of the neighbor bitches on her way in, laughing at the sounds coming from this room, me blubbering like an idiot. i wish that i could do something to help reggie, it makes me hurt so bad to think of him, and hate myself even more when i think about how glad i am that i�m not like him. fuck you, you insensitive shit! i have to stop typing now because me tears are turning violent and i�m clenching my fists really hard, too hard, i think. i�m having a smoke� what really gets me is the thought of him beating on the television screen, unable to express his frustration or find a solution. so caught up with aggravation that he can�t concentrate on his speech so all that anyone hears is unintelligible yelling. how could i have let this happen? what the fuck is wrong with me? the true tragedy of it all is, judging by the difficulty level of the game he chose and the fact that he comes in about once a week and works with us and some other people from the home that takes care of him, i think that his mind is quite keen and strong. to have a mind trapped in a body like that, with a fucked-up speech pattern and everyone assumes you�re some piece of shit involate wasting their tax dollars to care for you when the best thing would be to just shoot you in the fucking face and put you out of your goddamn misery, would be the worst torture�ever. again i�m forced to admire his courage. today he came in and vacuumed for a while and then put out movies. i tripped over the vacuum cord but caught myself in a wicked hopping-jumping display of awkwardness that was remotely successful but, for reggie, would be impossible. i hate flaunting my lack of disabilities in front of the disabled. i don�t like to walk past people in wheelchairs because i feel i�m being boastful. and poor reggie. i know now why i write. i thought of that as i forced myself to stop crying when i saw the mailman making his way towards my door. i know i must have looked like an idiot or a crack fiend with my face all tight from dried tears shellacked over the skin and my eyes all red. i thought, �if he asks me why i�ve been crying, and i try to tell him, i�ll start all over again�. that�s why i write: so that i�ll never have to say this again. ever. Spooky shit that actually had me wailing like an infant, pounding my fist on my chest to make it stop. I'm an oddity that I'm subjected to everyday. 2:32 p.m. - 2003-02-27 ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- |
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