My left arm hurts. Not from jerking off, that�s the right arm, from this rental car with no power steering I got today. The day was a little hectic. Three meetings in a row spanning about four hours total at week, as a two inch pile of paper work stared me in the face throughout the day when I returned to my desk for a minute or so. I then had to leave work promptly at four to pick up this damn little thing I have for a few days. Either way, they were willing to come and pick me up and everything. Wow, your car breaks down, and you�re treated like a king all of a sudden. This must be what it�s like to be a movie star. When�s the last time it was a big giant issue for Mel Gibson to break down in his car? Puff Daddy? They don�t have to go through talking to mechanics and insurance agents and AAA customer service agents with sweet voices and car dealers and cops and lawyers and congressmen and attractive brunette car rental women with nice figures, nice teeth, and a conservative fashion sense �with an edge�. They call their �agent� or someone, and they get picked up. Hell, do those people even drive? I�m never going to see Robert Urich driving a car down Rantoul Street in downtown Beverly (unless it was the eighties, and he was filming an episode of Spencer For Hire and wanted a good pizza; in which case he would go to that pizza restaurant where Rantoul and Cabot meet up, across from Burger King, simply called �Pizza�. Great pizza, great atmosphere, and if it�s not a front for a booking agent/drug dealer, than I have a bridge to sell you in Salem Massachusetts. However, if Robert wanted some good Chinese Food he would not go to that late night take out joint on Rantoul, he would probably pick up route 1A, head to 128 south, go to Route 1 south for 8 miles, turn around at the �Saugus-Main Street� exit, get on Route 1 north and pull into the parking lot of Kowloon, where nowadays you can go there anytime the WWF is in town and have a good chance of seeing the most electrifying sports entertainer in sports entertainment history ) , ever.

The hardest thing I�ve done lately is maintain. If you can�t maintain, then you can�t get on with life. You can�t do anything. I find it harder and harder every day to just go out and face people. I find it fading every single day, being social. I just don�t want to go out and be around anyone really. I don�t feel like going to parties. I don�t feel like going to concerts. I don�t feel like going to bars. I don�t feel like going out to dinner. I want to stay here. See one or two people here and there, and then just be left alone. I can�t say I blame myself. The more I go out and see the general public I want to hide inside all winter. I can�t look anyone in the eyes without seeing right through them. Seeing their faults as clear as a bell. I can�t maintain when I�m out and about. I�m always thinking of getting back to the shell. Whether it�s here at home, or out on the road, longing to get to a hotel room where I can hide for the night. Let the sun come back up and put me back on the street for the day. Nothing has excited me more than just reading a book, or listening to a great jazz record or something like that. Nothing, and nobody is going to take any place of that. Nobody is going to fulfill me with anything but misery, and a series of let downs. Trust thrown across the room like a rolling pin at a cheating husband. I guess there are people, lot�s of them that need that. Social interaction constantly. They can�t survive without some sort of companionship, conversation, whatever. They need someone there. They need that phone to keep ringing. They need to be reached at all times. They need to be on the cell phone while in line for their �eXXpresso�. They need to give scores and statistics to someone all day. They don�t have anything in common with me, yet I try and try every day. It�s hard to pretend all the time. It�s hard to pretend you hear voices and read lips and see eyes. It�s hard enough to just make people happy nowadays, it makes it all just not worth it. Yeah I enjoy the interaction of others time and time again. For the most part though, I feel destined to this attitude for all time. I remember what I was doing before. I remember trying and sometimes having to run away because I just couldn�t handle all the different voices going at once. Feeling like I was being looked at and admired at the same time, yet not clicking at all. I felt like it was good, I had someone there asking the correct questions. She helped me out by just plain caring. Making me feel perfect or whatever. In the end though, the nights felt long and tiring. Trying to maintain. Trying to fit in and feel comfortable day to day is not easy. But whatever, I do manage to maintain in front of most people I know. It�s the strangers, or �new people� that just don�t work for me. It�s the man telling me of his whole day in five minutes. Who gets the attention this week? Who gets the phone call returned. I felt like I could put my self up on something and get myself a new way of thinking, a whole new outlook on women and friends and sex and all that stuff. I felt like I didn�t have to get back to being a liar. The cars. All of the cars have histories. All the cars with their drives to this place and that place. How many times did I say ,�I love you� in that Plymouth? How many times did we pass that barn in the Chevy? Not as many times as in the Ford. It all comes back to me when I think back to my history with them. Who was I with at this point? What was I driving back then? I remember the back seat, the mansions, the waves crashing against the rocks, the marathon evenings and hot summer nights on the hood talking about what we loved about each other under skies like Wyndex glass. I remember every night in all of those cars. I remember things vividly about every single girl I�ve ever known. I remember mouths and hands and hair. I don�t remember voices, I don�t remember ideas. I remember words, just no sounds. I remember sights, no smells and sounds though. I think I can remember a time when I drove a car without a history. I remember a Honda with a two day trial period. I remember it was perhaps when I first got back together with Denise. I remember all those silly nights of being a teenager. I see teenagers, and people younger than me now and wonder if I was like they are. I wonder more about the teenagers actually, most of the 20�s people are fine. The teenagers though. I guess the older you get the more annoying they get. The girls seem to not get on my nerves in the summer as much for some reason. The boys in their jeeps and tank tops do though. Nothing to fear but a winter of snowstorms and occasional victories. Nothing to look forward to but a list of top ten theories on why redheads always catch me in a net. Snow and sliding tires on ice is what I look forward to. Nobody will hear me say �fuck� when my car slides into the sidewalk in early February. I may not even hear it. I�ll drive a snow plow this winter, You watch out, I�m going to drive a snow plow this winter, and then I will get my respect and adoration I need. I will plow snow for you. I will plow the snow in front of you so you can finally see me over here. The summer couldn�t be less welcome right now. I have my boots and jackets ready. Basement smelling jackets to get covered in snow as I hop into my snow plow, ready to plow some good snow.

before & after