My Story

I used to fall asleep by 9PM every night. But now I sit here at 11:33PM in the passenger seat of my car with a street light glaring at me like a Southern Baptist who caught a glimpse of me wearing my “WWJD (for a Klondike Bar)” t-shirt. Fuck you, lady.

And fuck the street light, too.

Four nights ago, I cried for two and a half hours and I didn’t even have the common decency to cry myself to sleep. I just got to sit there, my bloated, near-spoiled strawberry of face reflecting back at me in the rear view mirror. That’s what made me move to the passenger seat.

Don’t even ask me why I got out of bed to come sit in the car. I don’t know. Maybe it’s because the car’s four walls are closer than the four walls of my bedroom. Smaller, more compact. Crushing.

Shit never breaks even. Especially me.

Do they make Soul Glue?

So for the past three nights, I’ve sat in this here passenger seat. This here passenger seat. I sound like a guest on Hee Haw, except I look like ass in gingham and hay makes me itch like I have chiggers. I remember the first time I got chiggers. High school – out in the softball practice field one unfortunately memorable spring day back in tenth grade. I sucked at softball so I became the team manager. Didn’t help me any with the chiggers, but I got PE credit for it. That, and I got to be comfortable with gay women who didn’t know they were gay yet.

Tonight’s the first night I haven’t cried, though. To be honest, I’m kinda tapped-out. The well’s run dry but the sleep still hasn’t come. I was kinda hoping it’d be like it is with dicks: if you’re having sex, you can’t pee in a girl ‘cause that valve shuts off so you can…y’know. Yeah…apparently I have Girl Valves and when one shuts off, the other one’s still lost in the clearance racks in Nordstrom’s shoe department. Girl Valves suck.

I haven’t looked in the rear view mirror yet tonight either. That’s a first. I don’t know if I could call it progress but the last thing I really want to see right now is my face so that and that alone could be the reason I haven’t looked. I bought this truck because I liked the color. It’s a complete piece of shit and was the day I drove it off the lot but considering I’ve been sitting in the passenger seat for three nights now, I can’t say it’s not comfortable. I guess if you’re going to listen to your heart rot, you may as well not get ass cramps or a sore tailbone in the process.

Every time I fly for more than a few hours, my ass falls asleep. My tailbone HURTS. I can’t get comfortable and it’s as if Satan personally placed a bruise on the tip of my tailbone and does this mocking little dance, pointing at me for the whole goddamn flight. Of course, I’m the only one who can see Satan and I’m sure of this because I asked Combover Guy in the Window Seat one day on a flight from Vegas to New York and he assured me that he could not see Satan dancing in the aisle. Combover did, however,  get a kick out of watching me wedge the in-flight magazine and SkyMall underneath my ass in an effort to get a little hemorrhoid-type cushion lift.

I don’t really know what I’d do if I could sleep. Yeah, I’d sleep, but part of me thinks it’s safer to stay awake. At least when you’re awake, you can control some of the fucked up shit that runs through your head. Sleep? Kiss that control goodbye and be prepared to wake up with whatever your twisted mind’s conjured-up when you weren’t paying attention.

Y’know when you go for an early morning bike ride and get clotheslined by a spider web? You never see it coming unless the sunrise lights it up in just the right way. This is, naturally, right before you run the fuck into it and go through the whole panic/gross-out/wave arms/over-correct your steering/nearly wreck/realize you’re not part of a horror movie so you keep pedaling phase. I didn’t really think I could feel this way.

I’ve been clotheslined but it’s my heart that’s come to a sudden stop and…it’s not like I can’t keep pedaling.

I’ve forgotten how.

23 comments
The Redhead
The Redhead

Thanks, Shawn. That's a great compliment :)

WickedShawn
WickedShawn

There is nothing better than a piece of work that leaves the reader asking, "Is this real?" Excellent!

The Redhead
The Redhead

Fucking spider webs. All I'm sayin'.

Alysson
Alysson

"I don’t really know what I’d do if I could sleep. Yeah, I’d sleep, but part of me thinks it’s safer to stay awake." - written like a true tortured soul. No wonder you're a writer. ;)"right before you run the fuck into it and go through the whole panic/gross-out/wave arms/over-correct your steering/nearly wreck/realize you’re not part of a horror movie so you keep pedaling phase." - I'm SO glad I'm not the only one who does that. HAHA!

The Redhead
The Redhead

Mmmmm...pseudo-pshychoanalyzing fiction. If writing can't make you think, what *can* it do? :)

Kevin
Kevin

Let me preface this by saying that I am not trying to psycho-analyze your story. But, after I read what you wrote, it provoked some personal thoughts. I understand sitting in the car. For me, it's a realm of control...so you get in the car...you control the area...you can choose a destination. If you want to get away for awhile, YOU choose...you go. It can be a way of performing a controlled escape, or sometimes it is just enough to sit there, and know you control what is going on in your little sphere of influence...you can turn on the radio and listen to what you want to hear.Moving to the passenger seat...well that could easily be a metaphor for feeling out of control inside of your own little kingdom. Try as we might, to control the world around us, we can't. We give it a good go, by doing our daily routine...etc. but, when it comes to matters of the heart (if that is what this is about) we have very little control at times. So, sometimes we end up in the passenger seat of our heart, while someone else drives it around with the reckless abandon of scorched earth policy. Getting over it, is getting back in the driver's seat, and moving forward under your own control. It takes time. This same scenario could easily be applied to the helpless feeling you get when something awful is happening to you or someone you love, but you are powerless to do anything about it.This past week and a half, I have been in the passenger seat. I am geographically displaced from my family, and am unable to leave my location except for bereavement. My dad went in for a planned procedure that resulted in a fight for his life. Me...All I could do, was make daily calls using Skype on top of the crappy Internet service, to find out scraps of what was going on. Thankfully, he is getting better. I hope to be back in the driver's seat soon, with the rear-view displaying this episode fading fast. Luckily, the knot in my gut and slightly anxious feeling are subsiding. The valve...well, I hope the one day a week that I have off, will yield restful sleep...we'll see.So..I could have been completely off the mark with what I just said, but that is my take.In other news: I laughed at the Klondike bar shirt...agreed, Fuck them!!Regarding your airplane ass...yeah, yeah, sorry, but not much sympathy here. Just to get home, I have to sit on usually 4 or 5 flights totaling 20+ hours of airplane hell, accompanied with layovers in some BO-Zone, like Charles DeGaulle. Not to mention that usually one flight requires wearing battle-rattle...oh, Satan is there...he is the 120 degree heat and the asshole that fires at your aircraft.So...keep pedaling and resist the urge to start arachno-flailing. Being clotheslined is a part of the accepted risk of life.;-)From Baghdad,kilo-out!

The Redhead
The Redhead

Holy shit - that made me laugh. Now bring me a Klondike bar! :)

Joe Ray
Joe Ray

Admit it, you wanted to take the rolled up/folded magazine and bitch slap the center seat occupier in front of you then smack the female flight attendant in the ass with it while quoting scripture. I was starting to develop that urge half way through the story. Especially because I know that damn spider too- it's related to the one who stung me on the forehead the night before my 10 year high school reunion, when I was hanging under the dock at the marina drinking tequila with my homies. Shit, a black widow would've been better. I had never heard of a brown recluse till after getting the antibiotics and eventually the cosmetic surgery to remove the "stare at me in the supemarket, kid" type of knot on my forehead. That wasn't fun. That clothesline arachnid had evil ancestors. I recommend a Raid blast from 7 inches away; for the spider and for the mirror. That alone should earn you a Klondike bar.I enjoyed this. Now I'm going to go sling paint and pastels on something.

Mariano Franco
Mariano Franco

Thank you for being you! I wasn't sure if my story inspired by none other than Charlie from "It's Always Sunny In Philadelphia" fame and his relentless pursuit of the waitress would've made past your moderation. But it did. Then I read this and I wondered why I ever doubted it would because you are one cool-ass chick. It's said that the self is always coming through and I'm grateful that I get to enjoy the self that is you in your posts. Especially ones like this that expose raw universal emotions in such an entertaining and engaging fashion.Thanks again!

Shannon W.
Shannon W.

And my girlcrush continues. On you, and the chick in the pic.

Suzy
Suzy

Raw emotion at it's best.

The Redhead
The Redhead

Fiction, yes...but there's some truth in all fiction, no? :) Thanks for stopping by and giving it a read.

Hilary
Hilary

Nice piece--fiction? Hope so. Thanks for sharing this well-written and emotional post.

myMrP
myMrP

Why do you always hurt me and make me smile a mile. Reading you is like dating a cutter lol!

The Redhead
The Redhead

Ask the chick in the pic. She did all the work :)

The Redhead
The Redhead

That's the best, most unintended compliment I've ever received as a writer. :)

DarkTouch
DarkTouch

I sat here trying to figure out what happened, re-reading it over and over looking for the detail I missed before actually realizing this was fiction. I need to pay more attention.

Ryan
Ryan

Love it. Love that there are no "why's" or "explanation's"

Lori
Lori

I feel as if you read my thoughts....not sure whether I'm scared cause I'm not alone, or depressed because I'm not the only one that feels this way.

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