Sunday bloody Sunday

Yeah, yeah, yeah, so the title isn’t original, but it is Sunday and I feel like shit so it’s somewhat fitting. I need something to eat. Soon. That pineapple seemed to eat a hole in my belly and has increased my irritability. My foot massage was good and killed a half hour, but then what? There’s nowhere to go without spending money. I hate that. You can only browse so many shops without buying something. I went to the mini-mart, pretended to look at a few things and then went ahead and bought the OFF!® without further ado. There’s nothing like a little DEET cologne. Chicks dig it.

I walked the long walk back home. I guess I could have taken a moto taxi, but that would have cost me a good 50 cents. I decided to walk cause I’ve tired of my yellow bicycle already. It’s an ugly piss yellow and usually I can at least flush that color away. Now I have to sit on it all day. I think I’ll buy a new one and sell this atrocity. That’s the closest I can get to flushing it away. Good thing I debated a good while prior to choosing yellow over orange. I am a terrible decision maker. There was no gut feeling, that’s the problem. And no one to ask for an opinion besides an overly biased sales clerk. Oh well.

So I have a new apartment and it’s nice and cheap, but just a little walk from the city center. Not a problem by bicycle, but walking is a drag if you’re back and forth like I am. Over the bridge, past the club to the right, go straight, turn first left, walk straight ahead, turn right at the first paved road and turn right again by the K2 inline skating facility. Follow the bumpy potholed road down approximately 50 meters, past the dead snake and you’ll see a gate on your left.  I’m the apartment in the middle on the ground floor.

I hate locking my bicycle in the shed at night. I hate unlocking and locking the gate when I go out too late. And I hate dodging the potholes in the semi-darkness, flipping up mud onto the back of my legs from my flip flops, which get stuck in the mud. I dislike biking this ‘road’ even more as gives me road rash and rattles my undercarriage. I’m sure it contributed to my recent blowout, which not only burst the tube, but completely fucked the tire as well.

But the apartment itself is nothing to complain about. Not for 70 bucks a month. I got a roof over my head and the fan is sufficient even only on the second setting. I thought I might sweat to death. Fortunately it’s not the hot season. The cold shower is alright even if I might crave a little warmth on occasion. I can deal. The constant sweeping I might learn to despise, but it’s better than walking on sand and carrying it into bed with me. I think I’ll probably never eat here as I’ve seen what a drop of sugar can bring and I don’t want to use that Raid again.

This morning or yesterday, I can’t remember, I woke to the sound of chickens clucking, roosters crowing, children crying, hammers pounding and the bass from the inline skate facility thumping. It’s only slightly annoying and probably not complain-worthy considering it was nearly 10 o’clock. And well, you get what you pay for.  I’m sure I’d get all of the above, minus the bass in other locations too. I have earplugs and an iPod and I just have to make sure they’re at the ready.

Thank goodness for music. Good music. Listening to Bon Iver and it’s soothing the tension in my brain. Maybe I need a cranial massage. Or a prescription. I think I’ve figured it all out. I have recently been self-diagnosed with Eternal Fatigue Disorder and Eternal Discontent Syndrome. There is no cure, just a lot of rest, a little booze and lots of short-lived, fleeting, momentary encounters with external sense pleasures. I seemed to have forgotten how to meditate – not that I was any good at it anyway.

I need a beer and a pretty girl to look at. Yeah, that’s it. Pretty sure I’m fooling myself, but someone convinced me that happiness comes from within and I’m hoping I’ll find it in one of those bottles one day. How will I know what it looks like when that day comes? Fuck, I’ll probably just drink it and not even know it was there. I really want to catch it in my teeth, pick it out and raise it above my head between my calloused fingertips and say You're mine now, bitch!

Whatever. It’s almost time to go out, I can feel it. Nothing more to say. Put on my slacks, button up my shirt and dance the night away. Kidding, next weekend is prom night. Tonight is just Sunday. A night on the town like any other night. A few beers will probably elicit a few yawns and the young night will be old very quickly. Unless the Universe has other things in store. We shall see. Tata for now.