Robot Monster

I shuffle up the stairs to my condo.  Another long day into a late night.  I’ve been working nights for a month now.  My face feels hot and itchy.  My body aches.  I feel constantly nauseated.  My eyes weep with exhaustion.  I’ve been using energy drinks to keep going, two, then three a day.  Just to get up, get my boots on, finish my workout.  I haven’t been eating right, starving myself.  7-11 has become my blood bank.  My body has hardened into a bitter piece of wood.  I check my mailbox, nothing but junk.  I stumble into my apartment, kick off my flip-flops, the place is empty.  There is no life here.  A coffin.  Used only to sleep through the daylight.  My kitchen has turned into a wildlife refuge for roaches, flies, and ants.  The overflowing trashcan buzzes to life when I flip the light switch.  A thousand scurrying insects flee from my hateful gaze.  I pick up a spray bottle of Clorox kitchen spray and agent-orange the fleeing pests.  The half-dead halogen lights flicker evilly above me as my bleary eyes laugh at the dying insects.  This and a thousand other tasks left neglected.  No time.  Time only to sleep, every minute a gold coin to be saved in the sleep bank.  My unmade bed has become a jungle.  My sheets; twisted, knotted, and tangled together like vines.  I stare at my guitars, my new camera, my computer, my x-box, my stacks of records and stacks of books, this fucking website.  They all sit speechless like a neglected lover.  There is nothing and no one here for me right now.  I am alone in this utilitarian life.  I have taken heavy blows in life this year.  My buddies at work say I’ve been “bamboozled”.  I love that.  Fucking hilarious.  Every aspect of my life; women, money, health, sanity – all had some dents kicked into them over the last year.  All been dragged out into the light and seen to be pale and unhealthy.  Made me question myself, eroded my confidence.  I think about how my body works, how my mind works, and wonder what went wrong.  I am a broken machine wrapped in the skin of a monster.  Animatronics gone awry, attempting to perform a series of programmed tasks yet self-aware, locked in existential terror.  I’ve got one more day of nights then I’m off for three weeks – so they tell me.   So much has happened since I last reported to you, my faithful readers, and yet I am too exhausted to draw the breath to even begin to explain.  Last you heard I was an exiled individualist exploring Mongolia.  Since then I have wandered, lost, in the Gobi desert, meditated at Buddhist monasteries with the royal family in Bhutan, penetrated the seedy criminal underworld of Moscow, drank champagne and eaten olives from 500 year old olive trees while floating tranquilly in Porto Fino Italy, wandered blissfully through the cloud kissed mountains of Majorca Spain.  Give me some time, I feel that greatness is near.  Until then…

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