I just told my dog he’s out of his mind for growling at a stray pit bull. It was the tail end of the 5 minute conversation I had with him.
Earlier tonight, standing in my backyard, looking up at the stars, I said something like, “I hate my life. I hate my house. I hate my town. I hate my job. I hate my whole fucking god damn life. My dog is the only thing I like.” I wasn’t drunk.
Last night I had two separate dreams about being in a threesome. Twice, I woke up masturbating. Two separate times in one night. It was the most action I’ve had in almost three years. It was the best night I’ve had in a really long time. I would take NyQuil every night if I thought there was some correlation just to make it happen again.
I was an idiot for thinking my life ought to have some meaning other than making money. An idiot for not doing things differently straight out of college. My whole life has lead me here, to this night, to my house in the desert, talking to my dog, where masturbating in my sleep has become the best I now hope for.
Because this life is just sooooooo rich with meaning.
I’m going to need someone else to tell me the good about any of this because I sure as hell can’t see it.
All I see is a lonely idiot.