Why I Committed Suicide
Page 9
I get to see Jenifer tomorrow!!!
I’m in a state of Buddha-like bliss. The adventure I just completed has served to remind me of the little things I take for granted in my ordinary drudgery. Got home. Felt good. I immediately called Jenifer and she came right over with the most bouncing schoolgirl cheerleader enthusiasm I’ve ever seen in her. I swelled up with so much pride and love, all I could do was just hold her and kiss her for the longest time.
Oh God, when I finally held her in my arms and inhaled the scent of her skin, after what seemed like an eternity of separation, I wanted to pull her body into mine. Feeling the muscles in her back and tasting her lips makes me know for sure I’m with the girl of my fantasies. I have a woman every young boy would promise his soul to the devil for a chance at, and she wants me as much as I want her. It’s as if the excitement and danger of finding my old man’s ancient Playboy collection is suddenly real life. We couldn’t control ourselves after the weeklong chastity belt was suddenly released. Need took over, a need for each other accompanied by a mutual relief we both felt, knowing that when the Earth moved for us we were both aware and we were still reveling in playing with our gift of each other. Intense. Intense. Intense.
When I finally entered her, it felt as if I was parting the oceans of the world.
When time finally slowed down again and other awarenesses intruded into our dimension we talked for a long time about what we had both been doing during our time apart. Jenifer told me how she had been telling everyone with giggly (that’s my word, not hers) enthusiasm “Sam gets home today,” which made me glad I made the effort to get back to Denton so quickly. I know that from this moment on we will be together but instead of feeling penned in and constricted, I feel free. My soul mate, my lover, my companion, my partner in crime and extension of me. I’ve never felt this strongly attached to a girlfriend, truthfully I didn’t think it would be possible to find a woman that I respect as an equal. I’m not sure I’ll be able to take care of somebody else, not being fully able to even take care of myself, but I want to give it a try and help her take care of me. Sorry I’m rambling. I’m spinning in a post-coital bliss, dizzy with love I guess, but it is soooooo right.
Jim got the acid I mailed and he agreed that it was really good shit. Kirk and Jim went on a tripping binge and Jim must have done about 20 hits in the week or so I’ve been missing. I think I went through about forty myself so there are plenty of extras for later use. I’m a little burned out, but my mission of getting killer LSD has been a decided success. I returned home from my sex-capades to an outcry of enthusiasm and thanks from the house.
Tonight will be a night of rest. A full menu of watching rented movies on the VCR, lounging in the La-Z-Boys with the lights off and smoking massive bong hits out of “Skeletor.” It’s good to use the bong again, even if I’m back to regular schwag weed for a while. It’s good to be back.
Sorry to myself for taking so long to write (yet) again. I’m still having a great summer. Jenifer and I are falling into a comfortable routine of work and discovering each other in new ways during our leisure time. Both Dan and Jim have Hi8 camcorders, which I’ve been fucking around with a lot, but not as much as I would like to. I am officially an RTVF major now so playtime has purpose and thus isn’t playtime any longer.
The other day, we all went skating in this great sewer pipe one of Dan’s friends told us about. We set up the cameras and videotaped the whole session. It was fun but watching the tape at home later I realized how much I suck at skating. Well I don’t really suck suck since I am out there doing it but halfpipes are a fairly new genre for me. I feel like a poser street skater most of the time. Later on, sitting in the lazy boy, smoking pot and watching us cruise back and forth in slow motion with our arms waving ungracefully around in the air for balance made Jenifer and I laugh a lot. She’s working at the Flying Tomato with me now but she hasn’t been there long enough to get on the cool shifts yet. And NO I do not feel threatened having a workplace relationship. We’re now both sick of eating pizza for every meal except for the occasional late night binges on roofies.
I bought a half pipe skate ramp from some kid in the pizza shop for $50. I’m not sure yet how I’ll be able to move it across town and into our massive backyard but when I do it’ll be totally bitching. Do people still say that? I think if I can cut the ramp into three pieces, lay each piece over the bed of our friend Sweeny’s half-ton pickup, manage to find about 12 people to help lift it one piece at a time on and off the truck and maybe if I pray hard enough to the gods of architecture, we should be able to get the whole damn thing back together. Hopefully it will be all good. I watched some guy fall on his arm wrong the other day and listened to the sickening snap and look of disbelief as he stood up and his arm just dangled by his side in a deformed manner. Some girl with a car hauled him off the hospital but I don’t think he’ll be skating for a long time. That first glimmer of mortality in relation to a fun pastime kills a lot of the enthusiasm in real skaters. My first glimmer of mortality happened when I thought I was only play fighting with a kid named Joel Hopkins on the playground in Elementary school. He got genuinely pissed and put me in a headlock with his thumb in my eye. I remember being pretty shook up and thinking about how creepy it would be to lose an eye in some stupid playground skirmish. After that I only got into one fight in school and that was much later in high school because I made fun of a Mexican girl in my P.E. class and I pretty much deserved a sock in the eye from her boyfriend for that I suppose. No harm, no foul. Since the original eye thing there have been a progression of confrontations with my mortality, but fortunately nothing associated with skateboarding yet.
Dan has started working at the Tomato with Jenifer and I, so it will be a family thing soon. The only thing is, I hate having the inside track to getting my friends such a shitty job. They might eventually all blame me for the hot labors at low wages, get a mob together and storm up the hillside to burn down my castle. It’s just so damn hard to find a job up here that makes any money. I’ve been here over a year at least and still make under $4 an hour!
In addition to the boring problems in real life it’s gotten so that sometimes I’m so sexually charged around Jenifer it’s unbearable. Maybe I just hit puberty late and my hormones are kicking in after age 20. Deep down I know it’s all her though. If somebody could figure out a way to harness the energy we expend having sex, the world’s power shortages would soon be nonexistent. The electric company could just pay us to stay at home and hump. Do it for your country! For the record, it isn’t just me pushing her to “do” it all the time either. We just naturally rut around like monkeys mostly in the afternoon or evening. I love having sex in the morning and I’m sure that she just gets sick of me gently caressing her special no-no places until I get her all randy and she wakes up, but that’s because I wake up a lot earlier and I am still so thrilled to find her in my arms. I only have the tiny twin-sized bed so we sleep entwined around each other like boa constrictors. I love sleeping with my arms around Jenifer’s sexy waist or having her head in the crook of my arm and feeling her breath on my chest. A lot of mornings when the sun is shining onto our bodies through my grimy windows, I’ll just lie there and watch her sleep or listen to her breathing and feel her heartbeat pulsing just underneath the surface of skin on her lean body.
You know, as aggressive and comfortable with her body as she is, like all women I think Jen secretly needs me to take the initiative and suggest wild things to keep some electricity alive. Boy, that wasn’t an egocentric statement was it?
Today we used Dan’s video camera to tape us having sex in my room on my 1960’s looking flower pattern sheets. We did every thing and every which way a person would want to do that thing. It was all very passionate and enjoyable and it seemed as if everything we did was intensified because we were always aware of someone watching. I guess the someone would be our future selves, but that gets a little too Star Trek-y. We were
finally through after an hour or two so we smoked and watched the tape which started another round of lovemaking. Watching the tape, still out of breath from making it was very erotic. Not in a cheap exploitive kind of way either. Other than the mild embarrassment every girl feels about see- ing their body as others do, it really turned her on and that’s what it was supposed to do.
I transferred the Super 8 tapes to VHS and gave her the copies so she wouldn’t regret doing it later. It’s the only gentlemanly thing to do and I really don’t plan on ever running for public office anyway.
School is starting up again but my thirst for education isn’t ready to be quenched quite yet because I’m having the slacker summer of my dreams. Still it’s good to have some outside force motivating me so I don’t feel like a total bum. The house is starting to fill up with the smell of overpriced textbooks and lots of cool stuff. A regular four man bachelor pad of kitsch with things, that other people might consider tacky, everywhere. Barnum and Bailey circus posters, a giant Star Wars poster from an ancient “World” magazine and a truckload of Beastie Boys paraphernalia adorn the walls. We have a typical stoner pad I suppose, although Jerry and Dan don’t smoke pot they drink enough to feel the groovy vibes with us. I’ve got a $20 TV, that I bought off some student desperate for cash near the end of last semester, hooked up to a Super Nintendo (Jerry’s) near the entertainment center, so it’s on like mother fucking Donkey Kong baby! It’s cool to have a house I can molest with all my eclectic artistic enthusiasms. The walls of my room are slowly getting covered with the cool pictures I cut out in anticipation of future collages. My first year in college I made detailed flyers every week for a fake band I made up called “Smoking Tool.” I wrote reviews of the “Smoking Tool” shows for the local paper and I posted the upcoming show flyers all over town, which was a lot of fun until somebody saw me posting them and aggressively wanted to know why my band didn’t show up to such and such place as advertised. I guess some of the bars and clubs just let whoever makes a flyer play there on the slow nights. With my anonymity burnt, the band broke up and I learned that unless my creativity is directed or focused it often turns to mischief.
In my second year of college I made giant collages (that held weird secret subliminal messages under a black light) out of pictures, shaving cream, cigarette butts and lots of spray paint. I actively channeled my energy into those projects; defacing a large percentage of the dorm hallways and losing my deposit in the process until I entered a picture in an art show and watched it lose out to actual art students. I later learned that the art professors are the judges and always choose the winners based on their students’ projects. A lot of times they even give them the idea and help them develop it in class. I do not mind not winning, originally I was just thrilled to have a picture hanging in the UNT art show, but when I found out later that I didn’t even have a shot at winning because of the politics that are involved with being a successful artist, my enthusiasm for painting diminished a lot. Instead my ‘art for arts sake’ is much better, but more performance—oriented now. My creative energies are channeled into randomly (yet artistically) throwing eggs at the cars in the teacher parking spaces of the art building parking lot. That way the professors can help me with my projects too. My newest creation is to make their cars smell terrible to symbolize the oppression of the constricted establishment. Plus I like to throw eggs. I would say lately I’ve been more occupied and satisfied with experimenting on the canvas I live in. Life.
Jenifer’s been sort of bummed out lately because she’s going to have to give up her apartment on Stella. We’re still together all the time, virtually inseparable, but her roommates have been flaking on helping pay the bills so she’ll be moving back home for a little while with her parents. I suppose the notion of being back with her dad has a lot to do with her being so depressed. Her house is beautiful and huge that it has to be the parental units bumming her out right? I’ll miss sleeping over in her private air-conditioned room but the summer will soon be over and my porch room is much cooler than it was. I told Jenifer that her and her snoopy dog can stay with me anytime, I guess it was something she was worried about because her eyes lit up in that provocative way she has about her. Shit, if I had my way I would have her move in and marry me and bare my idiot children: I sanely keep my mouth shut and enthusiasm contained.
Fourth of July today. Spent most of it by myself drunk. Very drunk I might add. Drunk now. Dan and Jay went to some family thing and Jenifer’s off somewhere. I bought a watermelon earlier this week and a bottle of Everclear and ‘made a watermelon’ if that makes sense. You know, cut a hole in the melon and pour all the liquor inside? So I’ve been sitting on the front lawn in a lawn chair wearing nothing but my skivvies, jamming to classic rock on the radio and trying to count cars while my brain is all fucked up.
I think everyone caught out because they knew I set this day aside to raise hell. I have to go inside to take a bong hit every once in a while but otherwise I’m crisping in the sun until I eat this whole fucking watermelon while celebrating America. How fucking 70’s. Fuck this journal, I’m going to get the BB gun out.
I woke up sicker than a mug today. Grain alcohol isn’t something to be trifled with and I will never eat watermelon again. Ugh. I won’t even reread what I wrote, I only vaguely remember doing it.
It wasn’t even July 4th. Ouch my head.
I think I’m coming down with a cold. It might be good to de-fumigate the lungs for a few days but smoking out makes everything so much more interesting. Jenifer and I have been eating over at her parents’ house a lot lately. The fridge in my house just has a lot of condiments and beer, actual substantial food items don’t seem to stay around very long. Hopefully pizza will be included as one of the four main food groups soon. I love eating at her parents’ house because they always order out and I get to eat good food for a change. Even when we don’t eat take out they cook a lot of vegetables, homemade bread and a lot of other food I was raised on.
Jenifer’s parents cater to whatever eccentric food desires she verbalizes, probably because she’s an only child. It’s so cute to see her make faces and adamantly refuse to eat anything remotely foreign to her. Maybe later on in our life this will be a trait that grates on my nerves, but I’m so in love with her that I tend to find it delightfully enduring. I love getting a chance to cook for her, I try to introduce regular foods to her that I thought every American kid was required by law to like, and then I pretend to be hurt when she won’t eat a lot of whatever I cooked. It’s sick, but I live for the enjoyment of actually finding something she enjoys. It’s a very rare enjoyment though. Part of the not eating thing is that in her mind she’ll always hear the ballet instructors telling her she’s too fat, Jenifer would look even more stunningly voluptuous with a few extra pounds on her. Maybe it’s some secret male urge I have to fatten up the women so they’re easier to catch. I don’t know, I doubt it.
I was nervous the first time I went to eat at her parents’ house. Both of her parental units are polite and nice, despite the various horror stories I’ve heard about her obsessive-compulsive father. Jenifer’s mom is a librarian and Jenifer reveres her with all the “can do no wrong” enthusiasm usually reserved for a girl’s dad. Her mom is well read and I like her alright, but she looks or just reminds me of a short Sigourney Weaver. I keep expecting her to whip out a giant gun and kick some alien ass but she’s too subdued, in a way that only middle class white people can be, to really expect that. I’ve described the house before, I just feel like I should reiterate how much I dig eating lots of good hot food on their couch, facing the big windows that open to their backyard with all of its busy birdfeeders and watching the cable TV in the corner. It’s all very peaceful and serene, comfortable and hidden away like a Japanese garden. Jenifer always eats until she’s stuffed over at her parents’ house—which isn’t much—then she stretches out on the floor right in front of us and takes a nap. Her parents seem pretty us
ed to her napping and even though it isn’t very proper of me, I always like to look at her sexy body when she’s lying there in front of us.
I took Jenifer to eat at my parents’ house and felt embarrassed about their stupid sit down dinner structure after witnessing Jenifer’s parents treat her like an actual adult person. Maybe my parents still feel like they have to try and set an example for my little sister Alecia but they need to fucking relax with all of us every once in a while. My mom even gave me that same melodic teasing “Sam’s got a girlfriend” bullshit I got all through high school. I don’t mind though, Jenifer will likely be my wife one day. I think Jenifer’s nose ring scared them a lot at first and I’m glad. Shock ‘em into the nineties I say, it’s sexy on the cool. My little sister made me angry by confiding she didn’t like Jenifer as much as my old GF Melanie, but I’m inclined to think it was just the unfamiliarity of integrating a new person. I can tell Alecia is warming up to an older sister figure that treats her as an equal. I would say it’s cute but I don’t want to be too repetitious. So now our families have accepted us, what’s next?