who's driving?

and so but now he had this thing where he shut his eyes while driving. each time longer and longer - 'just to the next telephone pole' and then 'for the next two telephone poles' and then 'just to the next mile marker'. but always on the highway, so with fewer turns and no intersections.

this nerve in his brachial plexus had been ravaged by an office chair. the dull pain in his armpit and shoulder dampened his mood a bit.

what did he do? what did he do? what did he do next? and so then he walked around his house. aimless. in a stifling heat. he sat there with his shirt off - his torso skin is fucking nasty, for the record, and he is starting to get chest hair, not the manly kind but more the one-here-one-here-a-little-patch-over-there kind - and he sat at his computer desk (three pieces of particle board held together by hidden screws from ikea) with the skin of his, not fat or overweight but, extra-massed stomach physically sitting on the edge of the desk (you know, with chair pulled in really and almost too close to the desk) and punched away at his laptop, experimenting with commas and details and one-word sentences.

his left eyelid acquired a twitch recently. a rapid movement that absolutely could not be voluntary. it happened mostly when he discussed serious things and made decisions. he knows when it's coming and can feel it happen, of course, but he wonders if others can see it. is it dramatic enough for someone else to observe - that's a whole nothah question. tough to tell if from stress or not, the twitching.

he longed for a simple life of frankly just survival. he owned all these things...all these fucking things. and all these fucking clothes and he really just wanted to wear this grey sweater over a blue button down shirt and olive green pants everyday...he'll probably wear a suit tomorrow. sometimes it's not so funny to see all your dreams as reality.

he drove like a GD douchebag. the eyelid was twitching and the extra stomach mass was greasing up the desk. he felt it was a waste of time, the driving, so he tried as hard as possible to get to the desination as fast as possible. this caused problems for his passengers, if any, and for basically every other car on the road.

so fragile, really. and delicate. he was beginning to notice this. all these things he observed of himself, and probably nearly everything else, held together by these feeble ties...like, barely actually connected and more just 'next to each other' in flight and plummeting to the earth. sprinting at breakneck speed in the absolute black and actually doing okay and not tripping or being destroyed or destroying anyone else and really actually making it for a while but being able to disunite and recognize that it can't possibly last for that much longer, can it?