The sky looks like a sunset in a bad mood, like tonight we see god’s darker side, but he’s still looking pretty good. A bright red radio tower light blinks, miles away, as if in flagrant display of what it can see or say that we can’t. I’m walking down the stairs of my apartment building, toward my car, which I will then drive, toward the bar, where I will drown this disposition in $2.50 draughts.
My boyfriend is at his weekly Sunday softball game. As he was leaving, I said, “you didn’t even invite me,” to which he replied, is just so many words, “I didn’t really want you to go.” So I watched some porn, packed up my computer, put some mascara on so I would look just cute enough, and headed out to drink a solo toast to Jesus on his most special of weekdays. I’ll probably toast more than once.
I find myself in one of the few bars left in America that allows smoking, and I’m finding the cigar’s and cigarette’s noxious exhaust, both fresh and aged to a stale perfection, are contributing nicely to my desired ambiance. That, combined with the undecipherable bombilation of background chatter, makes a mighty fine mood for sipping, drinking, or chugging some beer. Depends on your style.
I can imagine the scene when I get home. I’ll, hopefully, stumble through the door, reeking of beer and fumes, but then again so will he. He will be angry that when he left me alone, instead of sitting at home, waiting for his return, possibly making him a little snack in apology for not understanding his shit attitude toward me all day, since he felt a little off, I went out and amused myself, without him. I’ll ask him what’s wrong, and he’ll say, “just chillin,” and ignore me for the rest of his waking hours.
Normally I would keep pestering him about what’s wrong (something’s always wrong), but tonight I will ignore him in turn, and wonder when the hell I’m going to grow a pair and call the whole thing off.
But for now, I’m drinking my beer, and I’m looking out the window, and it seems as though god has killed a squid and spread the inky remains across the sky. His mood hasn’t improved. The darkness outside is so complete and terrifying, we flock to islands of electric light, drinking spirits to embolden our spirits, watching screen to distract from that formidable dark biting at the edge of our shores. Even the bugs swarm the lamp posts. No one wants to get stuck out in that stuff.
I quit my job yesterday. Just before my lunch break, my boss had a talk with me. I should say he had a talk at me. Apparently it had been pissing him off for quite sometime that I ask him these irritating questions when he tells me to do something, like “why?” He doesn’t like to be questioned by his employees, and he made it clear that up until the point when he hired me, no employee had ever questioned him; they merely obeyed. Obviously he’d never hired anyone, until me, with brains or curiosity.
So I took my lunch, and I never went back.
Instead of feeling anxious about finding another job, I now feel free to drink this beer I’m drinking and write this thing that I’m writing. I feel free to take steps toward the things I want instead of stewing securely in a job I hate but feel a slave to because of money. I feel like I just broke off a relationship I hate but had been too afraid to end.
Things are going to get better from here.