His morning after

A follow-up to http://aloneontheisle.blogspot.com/2008/09/into-black.html The hangover is overwhelming, but the world is alive and I am gripped with panic. I want to remain silent, watch you sleep, and keep you in this bed—with me—for eternity. However, I know upon regaining consciousness, you will realize the gravity of your actions, recognize my age, my life’s plight, and my wedding ring. Better judgment will prevail, and run is what you will do. Excuses will fly wild, business meetings to attend, laundry to be completed, hair to be washed. I am a Wednesday night, a funny story to be told to your friends over too many cocktails, and a round of embarrassing admissions. This is my life’s highlight; an aberration from my daily pointless mess. I can’t recall your last name, but I want it to be mine, or at least the one I choose upon our escape from my hell. As you stir, I know not what your words will be, but I know they will not be enjoyed.

Sunday Scribblings

This week’s word is Stranger

Door slightly ajar, lights off, internal voice of excitement deafening.

* * *

I had been trolling the darker side of the internet on a lonely Friday night.

* * *

The music permeating the room was upbeat, but wordless.

* * *

I had nothing, and everything, in mind; I may have posted my email address.

* * *

The scent was unmistakably vanilla.

* * *

It started with an anonymous email, “Midtown Hyatt, room 636, 9:30pm, come in silence.”

* * *

I fumbled my way out of my clothes and into the bedroom.

* * *

I had heard about things such as this, but refused to accept that they existed.

* * *

We grouped, poked, prodded and fucked, uncontrollably, in complete and utter silence.

* * *

I reemerged into the light, noise, and going ons of the normal world, a new man, transformed by the faceless, nameless, wordless sex of a complete stranger.

Goodbye

He whispered thirty-two simple words into her ear before returning to the inevitable:

“While I have everything every other man would ever want, it is because of you, and the time we spent together, that I will no longer question my existence on this earth.”

(Inspired by the final scene in Lost In Translation)

Sunday Sribblings

This week’s word is Change: The face staring back at him in the mirror is a tattered combination of exhaustion, abuse, self-loathing, loss, fear and hope. As another week comes to a slow and painful end, he is once again presented with a chance to start over. To put down the cigarettes, walk away from the bottle, leave behind the faceless sexual partners, and become the person he always dreams he will be in the moments of sobriety and solitude. Every Monday offers the chance to begin anew and start the maturation process internally promised, yet still unfulfilled. He knows, in this moment, that the fresh weeks before him are becoming less numerous than those of his past. The problem lies in the fact that the life he seeks—one filled with completeness, pride, and restful nights—is one that he has neither known, nor understood. His existence to this point has been defined by the recklessness of his days; without them, he does not exist, at least not in his current form. Nonetheless, this is the week—he tells himself aloud—that the change will stick and that the embarrassment associated with his life will end.

It is about time!!

After eight painful years, I feel like I can breath again. Great fucking day!

Rejection

If I could respond to this week’s rejection, it would go something like this:

Dear Mr. Too Busy to Follow Through:

Thank you for taking the time—albeit a week after we had agreed, and only after I called to inquire about my pending application—to send me an informal form letter notifying me that, regrettably, you would not be able to offer me a position with your organization.

As you indicated, you interviewed “hundreds” of people for this opening, so I can only imagine that changing the name in the heading of the rejection, printing it, folding it so that it fit in the envelope, signing it, and plying it with postage, was an incredible inconvenience for you and your staff. I can sympathize with the interruption, as I faced a similar situation in flying up to interview with you, on less than five days notice, and to the tune of $1,500, on two separate occasions. Not often in this profession does one get a chance to meet an individual, face to face, who demands promptness and sacrifice from others, but fails to follow through with even the simplest of requests—they usually hide behind the alleged ineptness of others. For this, I am in your debt.

Finally, I want to commend you for reminding me why it is I loathe my career choice.

Very truly yours,

AOTI