Excuse my eloquence.
I’m having a bad day. I’m having a bad week. I’m having a bad month. It’s called February.
I tried to pull the covers up over my head and play dead.
My partner won’t let me. She says I have responsibility. She’s right. I know I need to drag myself out of bed, so I do. She goes to work.
I fulfill my minimal responsibility, then I lay on the couch and read the news. I read the blogs. I look at Instagram.
Hypocrite. Enough is enough. I will my soul to manifest itself in another body so I can slap the smartphone out of my own hands. It works. The pathetic zombie doesn’t even see my fist fly. Punch to the face. Smartphone skips across cheap laminate. Two steps. Stomp. A satisfying crunch. An interesting pattern of glass dust.
I drag Bozo by the collar, his feet thumping down each of the eight steps, propping him up against the wall in the front entranceway.
Then I go downstairs. Rip the wireless router off the wall. Stomp it to plastic bits and vomit at the silicon stench. Flip the breaker. Kill the power.
The 120 Hz hum of the refrigerator ceases. I can think. I need to feel the vitamin D so I drag my pathetic former self into the garage, nose bleeding and lowered head flopping left and right. Stuff that fucking loser into the Subaru. Engine on. No smartphone so I load a CD. Use Your Illusion, Track 13.
“Wha.. what the fuck? Who are you?”
My former self is being a little bitch so I really cock back this time.
“Sit back and enjoy the music.”
Fist connects and it’s lights out for now. Track 13 is approaching its crescendo. Clutch in. Shifter to the left and up. Gas pedal down. Tach reads red.
I drop the clutch as the song’s intro blows its load. The garage door is still down. It crumples violently and gets sucked under the tires as I peel away.
I turn to the bloody mess on the passenger seat beside me, “We’ve got a lot of cell towers to take out today, my friend.”