Christmas In July

 

                                                Christmas in July

 

“What are you staring at?”

“You. I’m staring at you looking like an idiot dressed like a reindeer in the middle of summer. You wanna know what I’m looking at Joe? I’m looking at a moron that’s what I’m looking at.”

“A moron?”

“Yeah, a moron.”

“It’s Christmas in July.” Joe said while he tried to keep a smile on his face and keep his hand waving to the patrons passing by.

Joe adjusts his antlers and stares at her his jaw clenched and his heart racing. Why in the hell did he ever agree for her to come out and stay with him for the summer. He should have knows she would tear him apart and grin at the pieces of him she scattered about. 

“I should have known it wasn’t a good idea for you to come out.”

“Oh really?”

“Yes, really. I don’t know why I thought we could bond on more than your disgust in me. “

“I don’t know why either Joe. I thought you’d be doing better than this. I had hoped anyway.”

“Better than this?” He said holding his hands out to show the full girth and fur of his reindeer costume.

“Shit ma.”

“You watch your mouth.”

“I guess I thought you would see how fucking hard I was trying!”

“Joe, your language!”

“Fuck it ma , I’m a grown ass man. I’ll cuss when I want to and I’ll wear whatever damn costume this fucking casino asks me to wear. It pays the bills and keeps me at home with Carol and the boys on the weekends. I thought you’d be proud that I’m workin my ass off instead of shootin up“

He pulls out a cigarette from the reindeers shirt pocket and lights it.

“You can smoke in that thing? Well?”

“Well what?”

“Are you gonna offer your mother one? I birthed you for Christ’s sake.”

 

 

Waiting To Blame

I never once took him for granted. Although he would have told you otherwise, that son of a bitch.  “You don’t care about me. “ He would whine after an argument that began over dirty dishes and backed up toilets.

Don’t get me wrong he was a good man in the beginning when he rode me hard and kept his mouth shut. But soon after we married he began to feel and in feeling he began to smother me with questions of whether or not I loved him. Did I need him? Why wasn’t I coming home at night? I mean shit, I can only take so much questioning before I bark, “Look sissy, I don’t give a shit if you feel like I should snuggle you more after sex or spend time with you at night balancing the check book! If I wanted someone so damn soft and pink I would be with a woman!”

A spine, yes a spine is what he needs and I just don’t have the time or energy to give it to him. If he beat me I’d be better off. At least then I could call him a man. At least then I could look him in the eye . Shit,  I’d even let the fear keep me home. Something. Anything to keep me home. Right now all that resides there is his damn pathetic whine. Waiting to blame me and beg me not take his love for granted.

Me? Take anything for granted? See, it goes to show that mother fucker doesn’t know me at all. Not one bit. 

Cycle of Love

Photo on 2014-01-06 at 20.05

Words like granite crunched in his ears.

“This is shit.”

He rips pages from a notebook sitting on his lap.

“Fucking, shit.”

Wads them in his ink stained hands and tosses them into the garbage can fire burning in the middle of his living room.

A bottle.

A lonely bottle.

A lonely bottle sits alongside him glittering with fire on it’s cool brown body.

“Shit.” He says licking his cracked lips and moving the pen back over the notepad on his lap.

You quench my thirst like water to fire I fall damp…

He nods out. Eyes fallen heavy, so heavy they drag his head down to his gut causing him to jerk awake grabbing the bottle next to him, gurgling and snorting through chugs of his real true love. Whipping his face with the back of his sleeve he catches a glance of the notebook in his lap.

“This is shit.”

He rips pages from a notebook sitting on his lap.

“Fucking, shit.”

Wads them in his ink stained hands and tosses them into the garbage can fire burning in the middle of his living room.

A bottle.

A lonely bottle.

A lonely bottle sits alongside him glittering with fire on it’s cool brown body.

“Shit.” He says licking his cracked lips and moving the pen back over the notepad on his lap.

Irritable Self

The words are tight in my chest today. Tight from holding them in as I survive another holiday. Another attack of thoughts and color. Sound that overwhelms and makes you grind your teeth at others. No one in particular. Grinding at all who walk by. All who ask why. All who are all. All including myself. I grind my teeth at myself the most. Continuous grit of sounds deep in the eardrum. I fling them from my mind now in tantrums of tingly emotion. I exhale and  ask to have peace with my irritable self today.

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