Drop of a Needle

Wow, it’s been a few months since I’ve posted anything on this page. The thing is a lot has been going on. Have I been busy? Yes. Are these busy reasons understandable? Probably not. Probably. I don’t know.

I’m going to have to catch up with this. I know I need to fill in the blanks with what happened to Brian. Luckily, Berf is still around. Then there’s Maria. The one that wouldn’t go away.

Before I go into all the weird stuff, in this post, that went on these past few months, I’ll tell a little story  that happened the other day. This little event made me want to start posting on here again. So, yes, it’s a bit significant.

I was late on my car insurance bill, which is dumb, because it’s not that much. I was late to the point that they told me I had to bring in a money order. I couldn’t mail it. So, I went down to the office. It annoyed me, because they said I had to go up to the fifth floor. Why? Because they’re jerks. Normally, I would have taken the stairs. I mean, I don’t want to be caught in an elevator during an earthquake.

Anyway, getting to the point. I went up, I paid my bill, I got back in the elevator. Now I was wearing my sunglasses the whole time, because I left my actual glasses at my apartment. This is a good thing. It helped in the end. Someone standing next to the buttons was nice enough to ask  what floor I was going to, so I said I was going to the main floor. They pressed the button for me, which I was thankful for.

There were a few people in there, but being me I didn’t acknowledge anyone. It’s not that I don’t care about people, I just feel awkward saying hello to people I don’t know. I don’t know why, it just seems weird to me.

Basically, the elevator had about three other people in there. Then it happened. I had gas. I didn’t think it would be loud when I let it out. I didn’t think it would have an odor either. Was I wrong? Absolutley. To both. There was no way anyone could have not heard it. There was no mistaken it was me.

What do you do in a situation like that? Seriously. I’m not a jerk. I didn’t do it on purpose. I didn’t do it because I thought they deserved it. It was weird and embarrassing. I’m mean, come one, it was kind of funny, but still.

The elevator was quiet after that. For that brief moment of eternity, no one said anything. You could hear a pin drop. I could feel the few people in there looking at me. The silence was horrible.

How did I play this off? I didn’t say a word. I waited in a tense awkward environment. I waited until we reached the bottom floor. When the doors opened I walked out and acted like I was blind. I started clicking my tongue and moving my head around like I was Stevie Wonder. I don’t know if it was believable. I doubt it. I don’t know.

Lesson learned: I’m never going to be late on a bill again. Never.

Yeah, That’s Me

I had a conversation with a co-worker today. They were telling me that most people at work think I’m rude.

Now, don’t get me wrong, I can totally see that, but I don’t mean it in a bad way. For example: Yesterday another co-worker asked me to send out a letter for them. I said sure, I can do your job. Anything else, your majesty?

They then asked, “You don’t like me, do you?”

I then acted like I was shocked, which I wasn’t, and said, “What? No, you’re a really nice person. It’s not that I don’t like you, it’s that when you speak, you say things which annoy me, and it makes me say mean things to you. See? It’s not that I don’t like you. I just think you say dumb things, and it annoys the hell out me.”

Now, if I had said that to you, you would be angry; possibly hurt. Why wouldn’t you? I would. However, try saying that to someone, and see how enjoyable it is. Seriously, try it. It’s funny. Then again, my sense of humor can be jacked up. Plus, I didn’t even know that co-worker. How could they have thought I didn’t like them?

Anyway, I thought it was funny.

I think I may need to tone back on the “voicing my actual thoughts.”

So, I never got around to checking out books on the mind. I’m just waiting it out. I think it’s going to be okay. I mean I’ve been fine for the past few weeks. I’m still not sleeping as well, but I’m getting more sleep than I normally have been. So, that’s a plus.

Holy crap! I went to a clothing store and I found a ton of dust bunnies. Not literally a ton, because that’s insane, but I found a few. Most of them had no shape, but I found two with shape. I’m beginning to wonder if I’m making this up, though. Kind of like when you look at a cloud and you pick a shape out of it. No one else can see it, but you. I may have done that with these last two. One is the shape of a sofa and the other is the shape of a coffee table. Coincidence…probably.

Nicholas A.D.

Pancakes and Rumors

I often wonder if women do in fact “dig scars.”

That’s a lie. I don’t often wonder that. However, I did wonder that this morning after I burned my stomach making pancakes.

How did I do this?

Calm your ass down and I’ll tell you.

This was the first time I have ever attempted to make pancakes, so, my lack of expertise in the matter should be understandable. Turns out I had the stove on too high. The pancake was stuck to the bottom of the pan. I tried to wedge my spatula under the pancake to flip it over, but it was no use.

So, you know when you have a jar and you can’t get the lid off; you try to twist it and nothing happens. So, you bring it closer to your stomach as a natural reaction. Well, that’s what I did to the hot pan. As soon as I felt that burn I threw the pan at the stove and cursed, but I thought, you dumb ass.

That was this morning. Luckily it wasn’t a bad burn. I think it will leave a mark.

Moving on.

So, about a month ago I took time off of work to get a little rest only to stay awake longer than I normally do.  It wasn’t that much time. Two days, I think. No strange things happened. Still I couldn’t sleep. I tried not to think of the weird things I have seen recently. So, what did I do in my free time. I called Berf. No answer. I called Brian. No answer. I thought for a second about going to that sporting good store to see if that girl was there. I didn’t.

Instead, I created a backstory for myself. For, you know, if by some chance I pass out in a restroom again. It’s not that elaborate, but I’ll say I’m the 98th Duke of China. I have three children. Two I gave to adoption, and one I sold to a farmer for a ham sandwich. And my wife left me for the Prince of Titicaca.

Hopefully I can remember that when I wake up from passing out.

Moving on.

When I went back to work, after my vacation, there were in fact rumors. It wasn’t a situation where I thought everyone was looking at me or anything like that. Most of the other employees in the office didn’t notice I had taken that time off.

Actually, the only person who looked at me as I went to my desk was my boss. That’s all she did. She didn’t say a word, only stared at me. I couldn’t tell if she had judging face or was just constipated. Maybe a bit of both.

I sat at my desk and when one of my co-workers rolled around his cubicle and sat at my desk next to me. He looked at me and said, “Everyone thinks you passed out from shooting up heroin in the restroom.”

Yes, apparently someone spread the rumor that I was shooting up heroin in the work restroom. That doesn’t even make sense to me. Other than smoking a little weed, I have never taken any drugs. I wanted to shout out that it wasn’t true. I wanted to shout that I passed out when I saw pig hooves at my stall door. But, I stopped myself, realizing that sounded crazier. So, I said, “Yeap, that’s me. Love that heroin.”

Now, every time I go the restroom, a few seconds later, someone goes in. It’s a little awkward. There’s that moment where I know they don’t have to use the restroom, and they go to a stall and start small talk with me, which bugs the hell out of me, because I can’t go if someone’s talking to me. That’s work life. Someone is always in the restroom when I’m in there to make sure I’m not shooting up heroin.

Luckily nothing new has happened lately. No “developments.” Other than this: I decided to do some research in a bunch a bull crap I don’t believe in. I’m going to look into the paranormal.

No, no I’m not going to do that. I’m going to the library next weekend to check out some books on hallucinations, sleep deprivation, health habits, and jacked-up minds (I hope there’s a book called that).

…

I saw Rachel last night.

Weird & Embarrassing

My days seem to have mixed together. I’m not sure which week I’m on. I have read my previous posts, but it doesn’t make sense. I know this post doesn’t make much sense yet, and by the time I’m finished posting it, it still won’t make much sense.

I don’t know.

I don’t think I’ve slept since the last time I posted anything. Maybe I did. If I did, it wasn’t much.

I haven’t talked to anyone lately.

I saw that pig again — the one with the comb-over. The static noise came back along with the cold. I thought about turning my recorder on, but then I realized I didn’t care enough. I just wanted to sleep. The static noise stopped and at the foot of my cot was the pig with the comb-over. It was just standing there staring at me, and then it was gone. I didn’t blink my eyes or anything like that. It was just gone.

Then lets move to this week, as in Monday this week. I went to work like any normal weekday. It was still early in the morning. I felt fatigued and lifeless. I went to the restroom, sat in the stall, though I didn’t need to go. I was just wasting time. I sat there and the door opened. I heard a click clack click clack sound repeating. It only repeated a few times. When it stopped, there were two hooves in front of my stall.  Two pig hooves. Freak’n pig hooves!

That’s all I remember. I passed out on the toilet at work after witnessing pig hooves approach my stall door. I don’t remember anything. I woke up with two paramedics next to me. They kept asking me if I knew who I was. They shined an annoying light in my eyes. I wish I would have told them a fake name and made a whole story up. That would have been funny. Well, funny to me. I have to make up a fake name and a whole back story for the next time. Hopefully there won’t be a next time, but just in case, I need to make up a back story.

The more I think about it, the more I feel a little embarrassed about it all. I mean, a co-worker found me on the floor in the restroom. I wonder what stories are being spun about me.

I banged my head on the tile floor pretty bad. I have a small gash and a bruise. I’m glad I wasn’t really trying to use the restroom when I passed out. I can imagine all the rumors if I did. Though I’m sure there are rumors anyway, I imagine if I was found passed out on the floor with my pants down those stories would be worse.

My boss, the one that calls me Nicholas-is, made me use the rest of the week for vacation.

I need sleep. I don’t want to see pigs with a comb-over.  I don’t want to pass out on the restroom floor at work. I need sleep!

Nicholas A.D.

Smokes, Jinga, Poprocks, and Dust Sheep

Well, hot dog! I haven’t updated my little diary thing in a while. So, here it goes.

I finally saw a doctor about my insomnia. He said I didn’t have insomnia. He did recommend some sleeping pills, but I threw the paper away. It wasn’t a prescription, it was just an over the counter recommendation.

I figure I’ll keep counting dust sheep. I made it up to three hundred and started counting back. That’s something new! I first started counting dust sheep as far as I could go, but then that stopped working for me. So, I counted to one hundred and then started counting backwards. Now, any time I can’t sleep I count more than I did the last time and I count backwards. So far that seems to be helping.

I started smoking again. It keeps me calm. I know it’s a filthy habit and I don’t like smoking, because I know I end up smelling like an ashtray, but it calms my hands. Work has been getting to me lately. I know what I do there isn’t complicated and physically draining in the least bit, but my hands shake when I think about work. I think about the buzzing of the florescent lights, the squeaks of the chairs, the ringing of near distant phones, and the incoherent combined chatter of the whole office, and I just need a cigarette…maybe a vacation too. Come to think of it, I don’t think I have had a vacation this year.

I visited Berf last week. The front door was open and his car was in the driveway. I know that didn’t mean anything regarding his whereabouts, and I probably should have called first, but I didn’t want to.

I didn’t bother knocking on the door. I just pushed it open and walked in. Within seconds I heard Berf yell from the restroom, “Who is it? I have a gun.”

“No you don’t,” I said.

He was quiet for a moment and then asked if I wanted to play jinga. I found him sitting on the toilet with a tv dinner tray playing jinga.

“Are you kidding me?” I asked and walked back into the hallway.

“Don’t judge me. Some people read when they go, I like to play jinga,” he said.

I sat in the hallway and we talked. I made a mental note to not touch any of the jinga pieces. Berf had taken into collecting different sets of jinga. He had one specifically for the restroom, one for the kitchen, one for the hallway, one for parties, one for his bedroom, and one for outside. He had it covered.

I asked if his roommate was still living there. I can’t remember her name. I think it was Lori or something. Maybe it was Sam. She had left to Vegas, but she still lived there. Berf really likes her. He said he likes her, because she’ll play jinga with him while he’s going number two. I don’t believe that. Berf lies a lot.

When he came out, after washing his hands, he said I looked like what he just did. Apparently I’m a skinnier and a slightly pale. I don’t think I am, but I could be wrong. I don’t own a scale and I don’t look in the mirror often. He might be right.

Berf had a sincere concerned look on his face. It was a bit surprising. He went to the kitchen and came back with a packet of Poprocks. He tossed it to me and said I needed to eat more. I don’t think I can trust his nutritional values, but it’s nice to know he’s concerned.

I haven’t talked to him since then.

Oh crap! Monday I ran into that girl, Maria, from the sporting goods store. I acted like I didn’t recognize her, but she approached me and asked what my name was. I don’t remember if I ever did tell her. I officially do not like her. I told her my name and she immediately called me “Nicky”.

So, my boss calls me Nicholas-is, and now this girl calls me Nicky. No matter how many times I correct people and tell them I don’t like to be called anything other than my name, Nicholas, some people seem to adjust it for them.

She asked how I was enjoying my electric heater, cot and sleeping bag. I gave her the short answer. I said I liked them. She then asked why I hadn’t called her. What do I say to that? I’m not good with being nice and honest. I wanted to say, “I threw your number away because you wrote it on a torn piece of paper from a book.” I wanted to say that she annoyed me.

What DID I say? Word for word, I said, “I don’t know.”

She laughed, wrote her number on my hand and said, “Call me.” She then walked away. Just like that. My freak’n hand! I went home and washed my hands.

I haven’t seen the Puerto Rican in the basement in a while. I wonder if he’s still living there.

I haven’t recorded anything.

My collection of dust figures growing, and I haven’t touched underneath my cot yet. I’m going to give it another month or so, before I take a look.

Oh, well, it’s getting late, and I feel tired, but I know I won’t fall asleep. I have to try.

Nicholas A.D.

Beer with Brian, and a List

Today I realized I don’t like hugs. This realization stemmed from an encounter at work. I had walked out with a few other workers. Some people gave each other a hug good-bye for the weekend (which seems dumb to me, because they’ll see each other in two days. I mean, hell, it’s not like they’re going on a long trip, or just going away for good.) and then someone approached me for a hug. I backed up, feeling a bit repulsed by it. The strange thing about it was I had never thought about it before.

In the past I’ve given people hugs, but when someone tries to give me a hug I’m a bit bugged by it. So, what did I learn about myself, today? Hugs are okay, unless I’m not the one initiating it.

Anyway, moving on, as stated in the title, I had a beer with Brian. I didn’t share it. I just had one and he had a separate one. One for himself. One for myself.

I didn’t plan on it. Like most of our encounters, I ran into him. I had just arrived home and decided to get some coffee. I’m kind of getting sick on my apartment. So, when possible, I’m not home.

Now to the list. When I met with Brian at that pizza place, we came up with a list of things that annoy us. For instance: I don’t like people trying to give me a hug.

Understand?

Good.

So, here’s the list, so far:

1: People who ask, “Can I ask you something?”

2: People who say, “I want to tell you something.”

3: People who ask, “Can we talk?” And then they proceed to speak without letting you join in on the conversation.

4: Gum

5: Yo-Yo’s

6: People who chew gum while playing with a yo-yo.

7: People who call you on the phone just to talk.

8: Carpet

That’s the list so far.

Oh, I almost forgot! Before Brian left, he asked me something very weird, even for him. He asked, “Have you talked to Rachel lately?”

Yeah, so, I thought, What the hell did you just ask? She’s dead. You told me she’s dead. I even called you later that night to confirm her death.”

“Excuse me?” I asked.

He then looked at me in a weird way, like a confused dog.

“Are you kidding?” I asked.

He then gave a strange confused laugh and said, “Yeah, I guess that was a bad joke. Sorry.”

Then we went our separate ways. I don’t understand the people I meet. So, now I’m feeling a bit off. Maybe I should visit the cemetery or run a search on her.

Nicholas A.D.