hormones

a list of apologies to any of my friends who have, or still are, expecting something from me & now think, or are beginning to think, that i am a bad friend, a neglectful person or simply mean:

if i don’t call you back it isn’t because i don’t want to, hell it isn’t even that i don’t think of it, cause i do. i think of calling you, all of you. it is just that most times when i think of it i am usually indisposed, by which i mean i am usually stuck firmly in the bone-crushing jaws of either work or alcohol, & if i called during these moments our conversation would equate to little more than my blood-curdling screams through which, try as hard as you might, you wouldn’t be able to get a word in edgewise. in other words our conversation would be fairly one-sided & lackluster.

if i work with you & you smoke & it is decided that we will take a smoke break together & then as soon as we hit the alley i begin to sort of pace around, making half-hearted, monosyllabic remarks to whatever it is you were talking about: the 1) apparent disregard for you or for the fact that we are, as one, taking a time-honored & traditional smoke break together, & 2) my apparent disinterest for whatever it is you were talking about, isn’t like that at all. see, as i’m pacing around i’m actually attempting to disengage myself from the bone-crushing jaws of either work or alcohol, you just cannot see the sweaty muscle of the jaws nor the blood of my attempted manumission. & my apparently disinterested, primordial sounding grunts are actually just that. they are the grunts & sudden outbursts of someone caught in a life/death type struggle. while perhaps a little modernized, this is comparable to what one would have heard on the pre-paleolithic earh as some primate attempted to disengage herself from the bone-crushing jaws of a velociraptor.

penpals, those past, present & those of you to whom i promised a penpal relationship which hasn’t climaxed yet, shit which hasn’t even reached first base yet: i’m sorry because i really do love penpals. writing letters is so effected & kitsch. of course i love it. i mean, hell, i’ve even pulled out my old remington rand deluxe 5. i’ve set up this whole letter writing station in a corner of my bedroom. but see i probably haven’t told you ‘cause i haven’t yet written you that letter but i only sleep on sundays, which is the only time that i spend more than ten minutes in my bedroom. but every sunday i look at that remington rand & think of you. every last one of you.

if i’ve failed to make an appearance at your or your friend’s house after being invited, be it for a large scale foam party or just a small get-together, believe me, i have wanted to attend. each & every time. seeing as how i only bath on february that foam party would have been not only fun but also hygienically beneficial & the small get-togethers with neat drinks & even neater conversation? i love those. though there might be more than a few reasons for why i didn’t make the event, the most likely one is that your event was probably more than four blocks away & by the time it would have been fashionably late enough for me to darken your doorstep i was probably already past the point of attempting the walk-four-blocks sobriety test. that or i was already far past the point of attempting to free myself from the bone-crashing etc, etc, & my marrow was already nourishing something else.

if i work with you & you don’t smoke & the only interaction you get with me are those moments when i’m half running towards the break room for more coffee singing that i love to singa song or when i’m talkingreallymuchtooincredibly fast & seem like i must be on crack, i’m sorry if you’ve been worried & i assure you i am not on crack. i just hate the health care industry & have started taking primatene mist insteading of using my prescribed inhaler. please stop dropping the word intervention in casual conversation.