Mercedes Benz

First. . . this.  Have any of you ever used Reynolds Plastic Wrap?  (And don't blame me.  I've not made the mistake.  They don't use the possessive apostrophe.  Them, not me.)  The stuff is great, but fuck me if I couldn't  design a better cutter on the roll.  There is no way that this one isn't just a malicious joke.  I am certain that they do it on purpose.  They are definitely sadists and definitely men who sit around stroking themselves about the malice behind the design.  A woman would never do such a thing.

And there's a segue of sorts.  The email I wrote last night after watching "Hemingway and Gellhorn."  It was worse than I imagined.  Beautiful or gorgeous (or whatever I have been calling her here in the confines of these pages) wrote back this morning.  With pictures of her fabulous life.  A photo of her on a balcony in Hawaii woefully did me in.  She travels for a fashion magazine to magnificent and exotic places.  Constantly.  And she is still so seriously beautiful.  She did this on purpose, of course.  I must learn not to write emails while drunk.

Or write blog posts for that matter.  But I must write tonight if I am to do what I intend to do in the morning which will leave no time for writing.  And I've been. . . drinking.  I intended to go to the gym, but I have found that to be less and less fulfilling lately.  For the first time in my adult life, I just cannot make myself go.  I get out of work late now.  The gym is not appealing.  Instead, I went to the grocery store to buy some things for dinner.  And the first person I ran into was a pump boy in his early twenties.  I tried to pull myself up a bit, but it was of no use at all.  Of all the things I've lost, it is confidence that I miss the most.

But Beautiful or Gorgeous or Skylar or whatever I've been calling her has set me on edge.  The dullness of my life is preferable to almost everything.  But not to that.  This is where my talents have brought me, though.  Now I must "play it where it lays."

And therein lies the origins of religion, perhaps, the plea to expunge the past and past guilt, to miraculously make the future not reliant upon what has come before.

"Oh Lord, won't you buy me a Mercedes Benz."