It was almost 7am, far too early for the new day.

S


mash! I heard some glass breaking. It was almost 7am, far too early for the new day. The people downstairs were evidently still going from the night before. I heard the distinct voice of Leah shouting "Hey Gus! Why don't you put on the Internet that you have a two inch penis?" I couldn't sleep anymore, so I dressed myself (while I still can) and went downstairs.

I found Matthew Hart hanging out with Leah and Angela. This was an unexpected development, but who am I to ask questions? I joined them, and began drinking what little could be found of the vino I'd bought last night.

He became enraged at such a suggestion and irrelevantly threatened to kick my ass, as if his breaking windows was something that shouldn't be questioned.

Matthew was very drunk, belligerently so. He admitted to breaking yet another window. He'd actually smashed through it with a bottle of Southern Comfort. It was a completely idiotic thing to do, but attempting (in his limited capacity) to socialize with Leah was making him extremely volatile. I'm sick of broken windows and broken everything else, so didn't have much sympathy. "Are you retarded?" I asked in disgust. He became enraged at such a suggestion and irrelevantly threatened to kick my ass, as if his breaking windows was something that shouldn't be questioned. He was acting so completely insane that it crossed my mind that someone should call the funny farm or the police to take him away. Such action has been necessary in the past, after all.

To find the drunks more tolerable, I found myself rapidly drinking vino. To keep the house from being flooded with cold air, I found myself taping newspaper over the broken window.

She asked me why I took her problems with Matthew so personally, and I said that I had to, I'm very good friends with Matthew.

Angela was extremely drunk, expressing neurotically insecure fears about resemblances to her oversexed older sister Theresa. The only person who was behaving even remotely rational was Leah. As insulting as Matthew got, no matter how many times he ordered her to leave, she was pleasant and outgoing, referring fondly to Matthew with terms of endearment like "honey" and "baby," and reaching over to caress him just like the old days.

The conversation wasn't on a particularly lofty level. At almost every opportunity, Matthew made some sort of derisive remark about Leah's "stupid boyfriend," especially when Leah used words she obviously has picked up from Rory, for example "arse" instead of "ass." Sometimes when he was very mad, Matthew would stomp around the room kicking things. It was stressful, but a little exciting.

The only thing Leah and Matthew could consense on when they were together was that Angela's breasts were looking fine. I had to agree with them on that.

At various times I'd be alone with Leah, and we'd talk pleasantly about various things. I'd missed her; she's really a lot of fun, once you can put out of your mind what betrayal she was party to. She asked me why I took her problems with Matthew so personally, and I said that I had to, I'm very good friends with Matthew. And really, she badly fucked him over, leaving in her wake a severely depressed alcoholic.

Suddenly his chance for "getting some action" was being smashed by his long-time nemesis.

Matthew and Angela went out to the Seven Day Junior at about 7am and bought an armload of 32 oz Malt Liquors, which they shared with Leah and me. This was indicative of Matthew's overall ambiguous attitude towards Leah; one moment he'd be giving her beer and acting nice, and the next he'd be calling her a stupid cunt and railing against her "boyfriend."

I drank my beer in record time because by 9am, I would have to be at work. I'd never been drinking at this time of day in my entire life.

W


hen Matthew finally, decisively ordered Leah out, he told me what all had happened earlier in the evening.
One of the first things that happened was when a drunken Theresa had called from a bar asking to be picked up. When Matthew and Angela arrived, they found Aaron the SHARP hanging out with her, buying her one drink after another, and "macking" on her (hoping to get her to go home with him). Of course, the SHARP was none to happy when Matthew Hart told Theresa, "Okay, let's go!" Suddenly his chance for "getting some action" was being smashed by his long-time nemesis. It was yet more reason for Aaron to hate Matthew.
Leah had told us an interesting story about the time recently when Aaron the SHARP had hit on her. His smooth line was to say "Oh I can't talk to you any more!" and then to turn away and engage in something else, only to return and do the same thing over and over again. The point he was trying to make, it seems, is that talking to her was turning him on far too much, and he'd have to stop or bad things would happen.

She backed right into it, albeit gently, only leaving a small dent

Back at Angela's house, Theresa was her typical drunken self: rambunctious & oversexed, trying to get kisses & sex from her sister, or, failing that, from Matthew.

Later in the evening, at Kappa Mutha Fucka, Leah had come over not once, but twice, begging him to take her back. On the second such time, who should Matthew spy in Leah's car but Rory. Matthew flew into a rage and attacked the car, hoping to drag Rory out and beat the hell out of him, but Rory managed to drive away. It was, to say the least, a hectic night.

Matthew says he derives a certain amount of satisfaction from the fact that all he has to do is say the word and he's back together with Leah... not that he wants to be.

Angela was acting very strange ever since she'd had a conversation with Leah. The latter had revealed a secret about one of Matthew's past dalliances, and it left Angela disturbed. This made Matthew even angrier at Leah.

Angela climbed into her Cadillac, evidently with the intention of driving home. The fact that she was blocked in by Matthew's Ford Escort (the Vomit Comet) didn't affect her plans much. She backed right into it, albeit gently, only leaving a small dent.

Matthew and Angela somehow managed to work out their problems by the time I set off for work.

It's doubtful that he really even knew much about football, or the importance of loyalty to a certain team.

A


t the end of work, Matthew showed up and asked me to go with him on a beer run. I was feeling a little disturbed about how fucked up everything had been last night, and even a little reluctant to contribute to his delinquency. But it's hard to change old social patterns. So I got him a case of Budweiser at Farmer Jack. On the way back to Kappa Mutha Fucka, we took the US-29 bypass around the University, hoping somehow to avoid the traffic pouring into town for an important University of Virginia-Florida State University football game. But still we became mired in a horrible traffic jam on Fontaine.

M


atthew went off to work, and I went by bicycle to Old Dominion Chicken for my usual (two thighs for $2.26) and ate it outside at a picnic table. All around me, UVA football fans streamed by on foot and in cars in garish orange and blue clothes, banners and paraphernalia. I watched one little kid energetically waving a UVA flag and wondered what was going through his mind. If he was like most kids, the very act of waving the flag and feeling it shudder in the wind was probably most of what amused him. It's doubtful that he really even knew much about football, or the importance of loyalty to a certain team. No doubt he never questioned his parents' loyalty to UVA. Such loyalty was a given, much like Santa Claus and his religious views. The thought of someone out there being loyal to some other team no doubt gave him feelings of unease. My brain is so poorly-wired to understand sports fan enthusiasm that, for me, it all seemed like a weird ritual undertaken by space aliens.

Yes, I'd managed to fix a CD-ROM drive using a piece of an old bicycle inner-tube.

B


ack at Kappa Mutha Fucka, the crowd's roars at the various football plays came surging through like the sound of ominous tidal waves crashing on rocky shores.

I set to work at the task of repairing an old CD-ROM drive that my former coworker Gabe gave me. Its eject function wasn't working, and I soon traced the problem to an age-slackened rubber band connecting two pulleys. I couldn't immediately think of any replacements. There were no rubber bands in my room, and most rubber bands would have been too big anyway. but then a little light bulb illuminated over my head. I ran out to the porch and grabbed an old bicycle inner-tube, and promptly cut out a little cross section of it. It was the perfect size. Getting it back into the mechanism and over the correct pulleys was not easy, and the first few bands I made were either to wide or too narrow, but I finally made one that worked absolutely correctly! Yes, I'd managed to fix a CD-ROM drive using a piece of an old bicycle inner-tube.

But this cannot go on. It's no fun living with a 19 year old infant.

Deya and I watched some teevee together and discussed the way Matthew Hart was acting last night. Talking to her about it, I became angry. How many more windows and doors will Matthew break before fixing them? Why does he have to drink until he completely loses control each and every night? When will he begin to consider the lives of those around him? Does he have no control over his behaviour? Or is he just an extremely large baby, who must have his liquor and must be allowed to break things, since it makes him feel so good. Deya and I agreed that it's disgusting and that it's going to have to change. Suddenly I had the realization that Matthew really isn't any better than Theresa! As I said to Deya, "it's just not cute anymore." Indeed, it reminds me of all I hated about him during the New York trip. But dealing with this emerging crisis is not going to be easy. Matthew doesn't ever want his actions and behaviours called into question. He lives in a world of denial in which everything he does is somehow justified. But this cannot go on. It's no fun living with a 19 year old infant.

The crowd in the nearby stadium kept distracting us with their idiotic roaring. I changed channels on the teevee to see the game, only for the weird proximity I felt by hitting "mute" during an especially good play and hearing the enthusiastic crowd purely acoustically.

S


uddenly I started feeling very sick. A weakness overtook my body and took possession of my viscera. I lay down on my bed, feeling awful. I thought maybe I was having a delayed hangover from the drinking this morning, but it was something else. I became philosophical; suddenly it occurred to me:

The most effective prison is semi-requited love.

Later, when I was asleep in her bed, I had horrible dreams about my body falling apart.

K


elly, the girl who I'd been "seeing" two weeks ago, called and said her evening's plans had been ruined, that she had a lot of vino, and would I like to hang out with her? I said I was feeling very sick, but if she could deal with me like that, sure. So she came to pick me up.

I ended up lying on her couch under lots of blankets, mostly sleeping while she read books. Later, when I was asleep in her bed, I had horrible dreams about my body falling apart. My heart was beating enormously fast, and every time it would skip a beat it would send an incredible shock wave through my abdomen. My Dad was there with me, but he didn't seem overly concerned. Then the dreams became more symbolic. I was driving in my Dodge Dart and it was vibrating extremely rapidly from some problem that remained in the rear axles. But, cursing my luck, I continued driving anyway. After a trip to visit my parents with a bunch of my friends, the car's engine suddenly ceased to function and I was forced to abandon it on the side of a cliff (an actual place: a roadcut on 872 south of Staunton). Then someone did something stupid with it and it almost rolled over the edge; I was forced to risk my life by jumping in and pushing down on the brake pedal with my hand.

These dreams (and the sick feelings in my body that lay at the root of them) were absolute torture. I have no idea what was wrong with me: my muscles were weak as if I had the flu, but I wasn't running a temperature at all.

---

Get a sense of what I was like exactly one year ago today.

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