As good as yesterday was, today is that bad. I didn’t sleep well, woke up too early from a nightmare that refused to leave my head after waking. The horrible thoughts meant I couldn’t get back to sleep, so I got up, showered, dressed, medicated, stumbled out of the door and drove to work, two hours early for no good reason.
The impending hurricane’s pressure (increased or decreased, don’t really care) is torturing my sinuses. It feels like my face might pop and run down my skull any minute, leaving me with gaping holes in my skull, and a lot of goo to explain to the housekeeping people when they come to clean tonight. My eyes are sandpaper on the inside of my eyelids, and the rest of my head is no better.
Today, everyone sucks. Really. I still love you, I do, but you all suck. You suck because your faces don’t hurt, and you’re all so damn smiley. Stop smiling. There’s nothing to smile about. We’re going to get a million feet of rain in the next seventy-two hours, DQ no longer makes cherry Dilly Bars, my face hurts, George W. Bush is still the President, people still go to bed hungry, there’s another worm exploiting yet another hole in Windows, an asteroid might crash into earth any day now and destroy us all, did I mention my face hurts, they freakin’ cancelled Homicide, Firefly and Sports Night but somehow 7th Heaven and Charmed are still on the air, Mark Sandman died so there will be no more Morphine albums but there will be more Britney Spears albums, no one makes good noir anymore, and my face is killing me. You all suck.
No one may make good noir anymore, but there is sure one heckuva writer writing it.
Acquaint yourself with Andrew Vaachs. His newest, The Getaway Man I just finished and it rocked. Then read his “Burke” series starting with Flood and going from there. You want noir? I got your noir, buddy.
I get the sense that you’re holding back, Kevin. Just let go. Say what’s on your mind. We can take it.
(Seriously, though, hope you’re feeling better.)