It’s too late at night to be starting a blog post. Lord knows these things take me forever because I’m that retarded genius who is painstakingly meticulous in trying to look like I don’t know what I’m doing. But we already know the motto of my little part of the internet: “Blah blah blah, but fuck it, I’m gonna do it anyway.”
Here’s a secret that’s not so secret. It’s one that I’ve been quiet about, because I know how ridiculous it all sounds. Because you, of all people, know that I’m prone to emotional flights of fancy. But I’ve got a secret to tell. A not-so-secret secret. It goes as such: I’m in love for the first time in my life.
If you’d have asked me 6 months ago, or even 6 years ago, I’d have said one of two things.
1) I’ve been in love a few times. Things never quite worked out, but my heart has been broken. I may not be a smart man, Jenn-ay, but I know what love is….
2) I’m not sure people like me are capable of love. I think I’m probably a sociopath because it’s really easy for me to feel nothing.
Then Bonnie happened. She makes me regret my vasectomy because she is the only woman I’ve ever met who could actually handle having my diabolical genius baby. No, that’s bullshit. I regret it because I think she and I would have the raddest little shitheads to ever live. She is smarter than me, and funnier. There’s something about the way her b.o. smells that makes me feel like I want to cook her in a skillet and eat her up. When she is giggling like a mischievous 6-year-old in bed at 3 a.m. because she’s watching retarded shit on youtube, I am filled with this joy that I’ve never experienced. I mean, the whole thing with me being a sociopath? Right out the window. Because I feel like everything’s gonna be okay when I know she’s happy.
Apparently, I’m not as fucked up as I thought. Or maybe I just found the right thing for me. Or maybe I really am just getting old. It’s disgusting, really. I thought I’d have everything all figured out by now. I turned 33 last week. And I don’t have much at all figured out. Except that… I sorta like getting old.
And I sort of like not having as many lofty goals. I think it would be nice to have a porch at home, for playing chess or backgammon, for drinking tea, for reading books, for working on crossword puzzles. A patch of grass to dig up and plant some vegetation in. It would be nice to have a little tomato cucumber salad with some fresh mozzarella and basil. A few instruments strewn about, so I can pick something up every once in a while and remember what it was like to feel like a musician. A big slobbery dog that grosses me out while making me laugh.
Who knows what will come when it comes? But. I wanna be well. And I’m gonna be.
For now, however, I am gonna go kill myself for being such a sappy fuck and seeing Bonnie there with me in all of these future daydreams I keep having. I think maybe I’ll throw some batteries in a pot of boiling water and drink ’em all up, gurgling away my last stupid breaths, thinking about the stupid lullabys I want to write her, choking down the hot metallic gravy, thinking my last thoughts on how life would never be the same again without her.
Yerp. That’s the secret. I’ve got it reeeeaaaal bad. And I’ve never felt so good.
Hopefully she dumps me someday so I really will have something juicy to write about.
Also, I’m working on a concept album about revenge-raping a dolphin that once upon a time stole my innocence.
Good night, and have a pleasant tomorrow. Or don’t. Whatever, dude.