pump fists throw grenades.


where should i begin? it doesn't even matter, really. how about i'm walking back to the school. it's a sunny day and i wanted to take a walk. i had ten dollars in my pocket and i used it as an excuse to go to the bank on broadway and make a deposit. a weak little $10 deposit, the kind that makes the teller think, why's this asshole even wasting my time? i could've asked for quarters, as i'll need them in the distant future to do laundry, but instead i made a deposit. there was no line, and i filled out the form as best i could, so the teller couldn't even say a thing about it. who knows? $10 is a fortune to some people.

but anyway, i'm walkng back to the school on this sunny day, and i'm thinking i want to write a story about this kid my cousin knew who overdosed on drugs. but lord knows i'm too lazy to write an actual story, so this will have to do. what am i thinking about? what is this kid thinking about? maybe a part of him wanted it to happen. it's like that scene in six feet under when the father dies, and at his funeral he's a ghost. one of the kids asks him what it's like to be dead, and he says this and that, but what sticks out the most is he yells, "no more boredom!" he yells it with all his might, and this part sticks out most because it's, like, yes, finally someone has said it.

so maybe this kid wanted it to all be over. is he really thinking he wants to end it? he knows drugs are a bad idea. in the eighth grade, he hears this little jingle, and the jingle goes: peer pressure, peer pressure, what does it do? squeezes the jesus right out of you! i know this kid knows drugs are a bad idea because we had the same upbringing. we heard all the same messages. the only difference between him and me is that he chose to ignore the messages. and now he's dead, which is a sad thing, but now he can never be bored.

and i'm entering the school, going through the big glass doors, and there are some people around in the lobby. students seated at tables, someone coming down the stairs, two people talking by the docket. there's the janitor wheeling around a big garbage can. there's a man in a suit holding a briefcase. and i think about this kid, this character, and what would he be thinking? that everyone is just going around, and the lot of them are lying to themselves. he can't help but picture each person lying in his final resting place, and he thinks that if he keeps thinking this way, he's going to drive himself mad. so, what does he do? he pushes that shit out of his head, and pushes something else into his nose.

let's jump around a little bit. there's me, sitting in the back of a room called c6. i have a dell laptop with me, and it isn't mine. the big-boned dean sits in front of me, and he says something of little importance to a coworker whose name i don't even know. and then there's lisa, and she's in the line for food. i am not in the line for food because i don't see the point of standing in a line. why not just wait until the line is gone, and then get the food? lisa says, are you just gonna sit back here like a big loner weirdo? i tell her about the laptop, but my answer has no logical connection to what she's just told me. she tells me where she is sitting, and she points to her pink nalgene bottle, the one i have rarely ever seen her without (fear of kidney stones?).

i decide i do not wish to be a big loner weirdo, so i sit behind lisa. her invitation, though, was pointless, as i become nothing more than a big loner weirdo who sits behind a group of girls. the designate dean, the reason we are all there, is talking, and there's no reason for me to be sitting behind this group of girls, or even to be in the classroom at all. it's like going to the movies by oneself, and i don't know why i haven't done that yet. lisa raises her hand, comments about how she appreciated last year's summer socials. had we been in high school, i would've called her a kiss-ass.

after all is said and done, up the stairs i go, and i'm holding a sign. for some reason, i say hello to a coworker i never say hello to. i don't know what makes me do it. we are both climbing the stairs, and she is about a foot ahead of me, and i think that she is slowing down, so i say hello. or probably it's just hey. i'm more a hey kind of fella. she says hey back and then tells me she saw me at st. george, and i don't remember that at all. the last time i had been at st. george was in october of last year. i asked, why didn't you say hi? and she said, you were with your friends. as it leaves her mouth, she realizes it's a terrible excuse, that there is no logical connection between the two facts - her not saying hello and me being with friends - and then she feels awkward, and this, in turn, makes me feel awkward, too, but more for her or for me, i don't have time to decide.

so there's this girl now, the girl who has the same job title i hold, but her office is the library. there is this girl who was out on a friday night in october in the international district with her group of asian friends and she notices me and i don't notice her because i am too busy noticing how my world has utterly collapsed. i am drinking beer after beer wondering how much i can drink before i have to throw up and there's this girl there who is my coworker and who doesn't leave her table to say hello because i am with friends. what would it have been anyway? it would've just been a small wave, or else a weak hey, a glance, and then the night would've ended as it did anyhow. or would it have?

and we skip around some more. i am walking on 12th past ti amo, the pizza place, and i have this thought that i will spend my entire life walking on 12th past ti amo, the pizza place. and i think, it's not so bad. why can't i just accept it? what would be so wrong with walking on 12th past ti amo for all of eternity? we're supposed to want more, but i read in the elegance of hedgehog that he who sows desire harvests oppression. i mull this over because i have no one in real life to talk to. i can't talk about what this means or anything that extends beyond pump fists throw grenades because that type of shit is boring and is only useful in college classrooms. so i just use this space as a dumping ground and hope for the best that someone else can make sense of it because i sure as hell can't.

so i'm walking on 12th past ti amo, and i think, if i get accepted, if i get funding, i'd better go. and then i think, why is it so important for me to leave? why am i always in such a rush to exit? am i that bored? do i really think things will be any different in another city, in another apartment, in another position? no. most probably i will still be wondering about what's possible instead of just accepting my reality. look at that poor kid, the one who couldn't accept reality. i see him, and he doesn't see me. he's walking around one day, he's talking to people, he's buying a gallon of milk, he's tying his shoelaces, he's watching dvds, he's remembering his sister's birthday, he's so full of love and energy and lust and sadness, and he's somebody's best friend in the whole wide world - until suddenly, he's not. he goes, and he's nothing more than a few blotches of memory.

no more boredom.

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