Whacking Off Again

December 21, 2014 at 12:34 pm (One Particular Angel, Sweet sticky things)

Rain’s departure has come with little fanfare this time. Out of respect for her (and us) I haven’t been saying much. My family and co-workers have been through our break-ups many times before. I’m sure folks say “Oh, they’re just fighting, they’ll be fine next week.” For the longest time, that was true.

But, in recovery, they talk about rock bottom. “How do you know when you have hit rock bottom?”

“You’ll know when you get there.”

I’m pretty sure I’m there.

“How you doing, Cholls? Did you dye your eyebrows?” Eva, Mothership manager and creator of the work schedule, was waiting for her paycheck with half a dozen other co-workers.

“Nope.” I checked a security mirror, holy crap!


“I just need to hit them with the weed-whacker again.”

Without a girlfriend to impress, I’ve let a few things go.

I’ve also let a few things return.

I noticed, as the work week rolled past, how the grip around my soul seemed to loosen. I’d been feeling stressed to the point of snapping a couple times, but not bad enough to actually do it. Angel has been, well, an absolute angel; running up to give me hugs when she sees me on the street. Now that we work a couple blocks apart again, I see her almost every day. While the twitterpation isn’t as heavy as it used to be, I’m sure it’d come back with a little encouragement.

Besides, I’m in mourning. My thing with Rain was never meant to be serious. As it got that way, we reacted in our typical ways. I did everything to draw her closer, and she did everything she could to keep me at a distance, while living in my bedroom and sharing my life, for three years. We’ve had lots of practice at ending it, I’m using all of that experience this time.

Little things get overlooked. I do miss her sweeping out my room, making my, making our bed every day. I miss the sexy smell of perfume and cigarettes, and the way her gorgeous ass was always bent over in my face. I will tolerate a lot for a nice view.

So I will sweep my room this morning, and trim my eyebrows. Don’t want to be a scrub. I’ve been texting Angel more often. Her ‘situation’ is similar to mine, in that the love interest has left the building, but left all their worldly possessions behind. “Isn’t it funny how their stuff never bothers you, until they leave and you’re stuck tripping over it all the time?”

“YES!” Angel took my hand as we walked. “You put up with, even love all that stuff, then it just gets on your last nerve.”

“I’ve been tempted to put her stuff in the driveway, but then I’d just have a mess in the driveway.”

“I’m tempted to pack up all his shit real nice, socks underwear, label that shit, and then call a cab. ‘Where you at, cuz that’s where yore shit’s goin’!'”

Oh, Angel, I wish I could. It’d be worth $30.

I almost started a beard again, but I hate being hairy this time of year. I understand how my brethren, who work suit-and-tie jobs and are expected to look respectable, let it go during No Shave November. I like to do the opposite. I want my baby-smooth cheek sliding along as many feminine thighs as possible. Plus, the whole Drunken Hawthorne Lumberjack look is my new pet peeve. A beard shouldn’t look like someone glued dyed cotton balls to their upper cheekbones.

The beard, and my happiness, are day-by-day. Today I will groom, and put on a happy face. My next day off is Christmas, literally. I get off at 12 AM Xmas eve. With any luck, I’ll have a hot little package to open up when I get home. Is it okay to pray for a Christmas Angel?

And if not? I’ve been alone before. I’m thinking it may not be a bad thing…

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