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2:16 a.m. - 2005-09-08
Christ Chiv! Look what you made me do. And it is not considered retardation if I caused it myself.
What is there to say about it? There will be no accountability and no consequences so we may as well pretend everything was done on the up and up.


Iím sitting in on a game that is fucking nuts at work. Pai Gow tiles. It is a Chinese game using what appear to be dominoes; in fact they are the precursor to dominoes. Thatís not the crazy part. It is a $100 to no limit table. It is pretty common for players to bet upwards of $50,000 on one hand. Each. There is more money sitting on the table than my mom, dad, step-mom, brothers, you and my sister made last year. We regularly take ľ million dollar swings during 8-hour shifts.

I wish some of these folks would take just one of those $100 chips off their towering stack and buy a stick of old spice and some Listerine. Else keep their arms down and their mouths pointed away from me. Christ.

Iím not really on that game much, thankfully, but even the games I sit in regularly can have me winning or losing $12,000 in a few hours. In comparison the two-dollar an hour raise I just got is not that exciting.


Also I am learning Cantonese. And a bear woke my mom up by looking through her window. And it was my birfday about a month ago and Iím no longer a spring chicken.

Sharon, who some how puts up with my old, gambling, broken Chinese speaking ass showered me with my favorite delicacies and a trip to Vegas to be traveled at a later date. I have not talked about her much in here because it was iffy whether she wanted me to or not, but the statute of limitations on her privacy is up.

Sharon is a doll. She has literally given her shoes to people and walked home barefoot. More than once or twice. She has lived all over the world, trained with championship kick boxers (and knocked out 200lb + men), danced with the motherfucking shwaz (Patrick Swayze) at a wedding she crashed, shot Justin Timberlake in the neck with a paint ball gun and made him yelp (I am assuming the yelping part), asked Bill Clinton at a book signing if he wanted to share a cigar with her and a lot of other interesting stuff. Now she is hanging out with me. The fucking mental case.

She is as loyal as they come. She stuck by me through thin already, problem is I don't have a lot of thick left.

Itís not fair. She deserves the kind of boyfriend I used to strive to be. Picking up favorite foods. Writing poems. Buying tampons and rushing them to the office. A punk.

Or hopeful romantic.

Whichever I was, prolly both and a lot of other shit too, I am no longer. Itís not stemming from any kind of resentment. It probably is a lot of fear and other shit.

Love used to be my last hope. The only intangible that I believed in. I donít know if that belief has been extinguished for good now but it is nowhere to be found at the moment.

And I did say last hope. I donít hope anything anymore. My super drugs are keeping me functioning, but I have no wish for myself in the future. I have no dreams or ideas or even fantasies anymore. I used to want to cloak myself in a family, a wife, kids-if not my own adopted, something I helped build and worked on. Something worth something. Now I donít even have the will to try. I only want to go to work tonight, and the next night, and the next night and I canít see further than about a week out. I look forward to nothing in the long term.

When I feel like this how can I offer any kind of hope for a future with her? I canít. I can look forward to seeing her this weekend. Or talking to her on the phone. But that is hardly what the woman wants, needs, or is worth.

But itís all Iím worth now.


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