i have a bright light floating in my left eye. it obstructs my vision. i’m dizzy. i don’t care because no one cares about me. the doc tells me that if don’t tell the person i’m with about my social disease they will get angry with me. when i asked him what if they don’t want to sleep with me he had nothing to say. what does he care? he’s not the one who isn’t having sex. is he telling me what to do with my private life? i don’t like anyone telling me what i can or cannot do with my body. i don’t really deal with anyone else so i argue with him in my head. it’s scary to think that if i didn’t have the money for sessions i would argue with him in my head for years until i forgot what he said or how he said it. i can’t ask an acquaintance how they are. they may ask me the same. they may actually be interested and i won’t know what to do. i’ll be reminded of myself and i will feel saddened. i’m so paranoid. when someone says that they hope i’m okay i feel like they are saying that i need help. i can’t deal with not knowing how someone will respond. my friend is the same way. she has been monopolized by the man she is seeing. she can only text me, not see me in person. she has reduced our friendship to a smattering of texts. i’ve known her for a year and she has never had me over to her house for dinner or introduced me to her two boys she talks about in length. she has told me private things she hasn’t told anyone else. i think i’m an idea or a vague feeling to her, not a person. she posted a pic of herself and her boy friend on facebook. they are both five foot two and they have big stable heads. they have eyes that look like baubles. she looks very still and neutral and he looks fussy. if someone is moody when i’m with them i think it’s my fault and i get angry with them. i’m ashamed to admit that at the age of 45 i’m still boring and pathological. i prefer self pity to fucking. sex is convulsive. i hate people who equate fucking with life force. i don’t have the energy for it. i prefer to suck the dude from idaho with a red beard. he reminds me of the kids i bullied at school and pitied when they cried. i suck and finger fuck his asshole. i hate the smell of sweat and shit. when i’m horny i don’t care about the smell of shit. i suck his red beard. he’s so sweet and round and even. why do you sound the same whatever i do to you,i said. i don’t think that’s true, the read beard said. you sound like a piggy, i said. you’re as dumb as a rock, he said.
zac, the read beard, works at a meat shop that specializes in pork. he talks to me about cutting shoulders. he likes how the frozen meat gives to the knife. i have been thinking about getting him a gold chain. i thought it would look good on him. since my ex left me i have wanted to buy jewelry for someone so that they have something to remember me by. the red beard is self possessed like a terrorist. he never wants me to pay for anything. i have a feeling his feelings will be hurt if i get him something nice. he will ghost me and i won’t have anyone to talk to.
zac goes to a small space that has free weights, a pull up bar, a medicine ball and a jumping rope. the trainer has five loyal clients. they run forty blocks before she leads them through their daily regimen. zac does sit ups and lunges with a medicine ball. the door to the small gym is always open. i observe zac’s red puffy face from across glisan street in the rain. i hardly see him anymore. he’s either at the gym or at work.