Trippity Traipsing

What’s worse than an empty email box: a dead body.

Why does love stink and hurt…in a delicious sort of way. Pain like it’s teeter-tottering on a fine line between pleasure, and the bad side of pain; fear. When, and if, it should ever turn into fear, after a certain level of trust has been broken, it’s not love anymore. But something sickening and twisted. Love lost, a shadow of love, an echo of something beautiful now shrouded in darkness and despair. The only thing worse than love lost is feeling others’ disappointment.

Last night was surreal.
I realized in how much shit I always get myself time and time again. I’ve been hiring a few guys from the “neighborhood” to help with renovations. One of the guys is called Tatoo. Here’s how retarded I am. So blind. I was waiting for someone to bring me money to pay “Tatoo” for 8 and 1/2 hours, while he paced back and forth in front of my store, and his woman cursed him out in spanish until from around 3pm to  11:30pm at which time I blanked out with the horror of preceding events, so don’t ask me what happened after that. Tatoos curfew is 7pm.

He trusted me. He trusted me to pay him on time. He broke his curfew. Everyone in the neighborhood laughed at him for trusting the new girl in town, who they laugh at daily for trying to open a store in this neighborhood whilst being a “girl”.

“Are you doing this all by yourself?” “You need a boyfriend for some support.” “Your running out of time.” “Dump the storefront, it’s a bad idea.” “The store is ruining your life.” “bwaahahahha.” “yeah Sue, sure we’ll get together and write, sure, anytime you want.” “The furniture industry is really struggling right now.” “The music industry is going down right now.” “Your not going to get your album back.” “You fucked it all up.” “Everyone has a breaking point, a chip and crack in their armor. What’s your chip and crack?” “When. Not If. Is someone or something going to come and be the final pummel to the exterior, tumbling all to ground in a heap of dry sawdust and dust.” “Laugh out loud, laugh out loud, laugh out loud.” I press my hands to my ears and rock back and forth. Which confirms everyone’s suspicions of me for the worst, they gape, mawn and fawn, trippity traipsing and saying I told you so.

I thought Tatoo was clanking his keys on the floor and the glass of my store for 5 hours. I was too scared to go anywhere. I don’t have my phone, because it was stolen a few days prior. I’m sitting inside getting more and more paranoid. I finally go outside and pretend to work on the storefront and realize that the sound I was hearing all along were the dominos clanging down on the rain warped table across the street by the people who play endlessly. All day long, day in day out. How can they afford to do that by the way? I look over my shoulder across the street, at the domino people, and everyone inside of “Raul’s Candy Store”, who are all sitting on fold out chairs facing away from me and watching something inside – either their grand leader, or a television screen spitting out novelas – and everyone in Raul’s candy shop all turn and look at me in beautiful symmetry and cadence. Their eyes glowing white and piercing through the middle of the night darkness, straight into my soul.

The lazy super of my building, who everyone curses out for doing nothing, turns into some kind of Godlike Guardian Angel, and takes some time out of his guardian angel watch on the building, to stand next to Tatoo, start talking to him to calm him down and loan me his phone.

I call over and over again. The person is probably in the subway, or something, but no answer. I probably call 50 times in the following 50 minutes. I look outside, everyone seems to be on some sort of “side”. There’s this side of the street, and that side of the street. There are guardians who are stemming the flow of evil, and evil people who are trying to break through the cracks. Break through the cracks and get me. And those other people are saving me by stopping them. But I don’t ever see those other people. I also trippity traipse around. Blindly stepping on toes; causing a ruckus of chaotic frenzy everywhere I go. Tipping over the status quo, breaking expensive vases, pulling someone by the hand past and into enemy lines, then breaking through defenses to come back to the good side again, letting the bad things in behind me. Swimming in and out of the facades and cute little neighborhoods, angry and happy, ugly and beautiful, just playing in the waves, the tidal waves of life, whithersoever I shall roam.

I hate it when people say something is beautiful when it’s really not. Especially while browsing through craigslist looking for random stuff. Seriously. Are you trying that desperately to sell that?

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