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the only weird people
Thursday, April 8 1999
Drugs. I'm still affected by peer pressure after all these years. I just can't come out and tell certain among my friends that I really don't like smoking pot anymore. It's the only connection we have, and to destroy that would ruin everything between us. The thing that sucks when you're a weirdo like me is that the only weird people you end up knowing (or, actually, the weirdest people you end up knowing) are into drugs far more than you are. Unlike them, I really am weird, and it has nothing to do with drugs. For me drugs are a part of the landscape within which I dwell. I deal with them grudgingly, like I do the sappy gung-ho capitalist spirit of my workplace.
Coming home from work today, I found myself behind the wheel of Kim's Volvo. I'm not especially used to the driving characteristics of the roads on which I bike, so in no time I was trapped in the on ramp to 163 North, heading the wrong direction, burning lots of that $1.75/gallon gasoline they have in California these days. I went a good three miles north before I found a way to turn around and head back south. After all that money spent on California freeways, they still don't make sense.
Aside from such experiences, I'm doing okay without Kim here to take care of me. I leave my dirty clothes on the floor. I don't wash my dishes. I shit with the bathroom door wide open. Trash accumulates on the counter space. The bed has spent a record number of days completely unmade. But I'm happy with the solitude. I think I'll appreciate Kim a lot more once she returns.
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