Tonight I’m in the Doghouse


Having walked from my home that I share with three women after having a deplorable fight with the one woman whom I share a room and a set of broken hearts, I have made my way into a Studio 6 motel. The teller almost didn’t check me in because he saw me as a suspicious character, walking in a fog back and forth in front of the entrance before working up my nerve to request a room. The beds have dirty sheets and it smells of a kind of despair that can only lead to more of it the next morning. I don’t know when check out is. I didn’t even ask.

Tonight my girlfriend made me a wonderfully inspired tuna fish burger with a sauce that she made from scratch and two equally delicious sides. Two tequila shots later leads us to arguing about gun control. We actually agree on the issue, but apparently we both have a hard time accepting that. Adrenaline-fueled seconds later, with me betraying my definition of manhood as she struggled with her own issues, I brought myself into the cold night with not a clue what to do or why what had transpired had to occur at all. It was a nice night, I had thought. We were set to watch Westworld as we always do on Sunday. Now I have walked to a hotel, spent money that I do not have, so that I may warm up under stained sheets, soaking in a bath of pathetic tears, while doing nothing to nurse the destructive and painful effect that my chainsmoking has caused. Uncharacteristically calling my mother calmed me until it didn’t.

Worthlessness doesn’t always have to entail self-pity, especially when it is such an obvious fact. Perhaps tonight occurred because we have both experienced volitial relationships in our past, now unable to lower our defenses as we bite and snarl with shiny teeth, even shinier asses, leading to an unknown headbutt into the ceiling that is our hatred for ourselves. She hasn’t answered any of my ambiguous calls or text requesting to talk or have a walk – a walk we’ve yet to do after a blowup. That was one of my mother’s suggestions. It seemed like a good idea before my ass became a dancing icicle. It’s been said that tonight’s moon was to be the biggest in size from the viewing our eyes since 1948. We won’t get to share the experience. I’m casting the sight aside to wallow in the past. If she sees it, we won’t be doing it together from afar either.

I love this woman and I do not doubt that she loves me, but I know more than ever that something is not right. I don’t know where the blame goes or where I may comfortably place my hat, yet I had hoped it was here. Perhaps I was and am still wrong.

Is it so bad to believe in happy endings? Is it so terrible to desire greatness in oneself? It can’t be with limits to expectations, of which I have none. Broken homes birth broken people; I am the poster child for man, that’s fucked up. 

My stomach burns with toxins. My heart descends with no anchor pulling it down. No tide moves it. Drowning, gasping for air, no boat in sight, I question why I still doggie paddle. Tristan Drue, you know the answer.

Nothing in life comes easy. You haven’t seen the worst yet, you’re only 26, you optimistic fool, you sensitive fuck, you outstanding warrant of blackness, you sweet sweet man-child. You fucked up. Figure it out.

She says she loves me and I think that it’d be better if she did not. She says she loves me, I say the same. I pray that she still believes me. It’s the only thing that I believe about myself. The first day I ever saw her was the first day of the rest of my life. And you fucked up.

That’s why you’re in the goddamn doghouse, buddy boy. Tomorrow is another day. Don’t take no shit, but hey, don’t give no shit either.

Therapy session over.

She called, telling me that her phone was dead. I don’t feel any better. I just may throw up. I’m staying for the night. I’m staying in this hotel for the night. I’m night in this hotel for the staying.


It’s cold in this place, too. My heart isn’t any warmer. Those tears prove otherwise, though.

She says she loves me and if I can’t do right by her … I can’t sleep away from my dreams.

She says she loves me. 

Until the morning –

I say I love you. I truly do. Don’t forgive me, expect better. Anyway, you don’t have to say that you love me, you know. 

-T.D.

Right now at least I have unlimited access to a toilet. That’s somethin’. 

Advertisements

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s