Deep Inside My Thoughts

If there’s one major complaint I have about living in Indiana, it’s the weather. There is no middle ground here, only the extremes. We have very cold winters, and very hot summers. This state is crazy like that. It’s the one thing I hate most about this state.
I remember the weather being so bad one winter when I was in middle school. We were supposed to only have two or three weeks off for Christmas vacation, but since I lived in Yorktown still, and probably 30% of the students were rural, even the tiniest amount of snow would cancel school. However, this wasn’t a ‘normal’ year, we had a blizzard. I was out of school for five weeks. Being a kid, that was heaven. I think I spent the entire time playing the old Superman game for the NES. Also, there is, and maybe still is, an Indiana state law that says you can only make up X amount of days at the end of the school, so if I remember right, about 20 days were thrown off the books that year. 160 days of school. Those were the days.
The summer this year was hot! Well, maybe that was because I didn’t have air conditioning in my car, nor did my driver’s window roll down. I would dread going into work during the day, knowing the entire time I would be confined to the sweatbox that was my car. I drank water by the liter, spending about $12 a day on Aquafina all so I wouldn’t get too dehydrated. It didn’t help always. One day, I about passed out from heat exhaustion, and I spent ten minutes in the cold storage at work, just cool my body down. This summer was terrible.
Now, I’m looking forward to the prospect of another cold winter. It will snow soon, and I’m not ready. Two weeks ago I was wearing T-shirts, today I’m wrapped up in a warm long sleeve fleece shirt. I can see my breath in the morning air. It’s too early for this. But its not, it’s almost November. All there is to look forward to is three more month’s of terribly cold weather. I hope it’s a mild winter this year, I don’t like having my car get stuck in the snow, and having to deliver Pizza by foot across snow drifts. That was the worst part of my job last year, and I’m going to hate it this year.
For breakfast today, there was only one thing that seemed appropriate to me. I’m sitting in a Bob Evan’s right now, sipping at my coffee, waiting for my piping hot biscuits and gravy to come up. Cold day’s like these have only two solutions: coffee, and biscuits and gravy. It’s as much as a tradition as anything. The first day I freeze, I have coffee and Bob Evan’s. It’s a shame to break tradition.
In all my year’s, I’ve never been a winter person. I’ve never liked snow. Even as a kid, I would play outside until I froze, and that would be it for the day. I was lucky to be out for 30 minutes a day, throwing snowballs at my brother, building snow forts, or just raising hell. Never once did I make a snow man. Has anyone actually done that? That’s part of Americana, and I really wonder how many people made snowmen in their youth. After all, coal is very rare around here. The last time I saw coal, was when I got it for Christmas (Not Kidding). God, I had such a happy childhood.
I’m thinking about trying to take a week off at Christmas, maybe to see family, maybe to go on a small trip myself. That would be fun. I’ve never really vacationed alone, and I can’t really afford it, but there’s some appeal to it none the less. I’m sure my father would go crazy if I informed him I was taking a weeklong vacation to wherever. Maybe I can just make rounds, visiting friends I never thought I would ever see with my own eyes. Maybe Denmark, but that’s probably out of the question. Perhaps a nice road trip to the south, surrounding myself with all the Belle’s whose accents I value so much.
Decisions, Decisions, Decisions. Right now, I have to go find thermal underwear.

INTEROGITIVE PONDER: How many relationships can you have in X time and still feel Y happy about all of them?

INTEROGITIVE PONDER: How many relationships can you have in X time and still feel Y happy about all of them?

There are seven times in my life where I have almost died. One of those was today. It was a very bad day.

I was the opening driver today. That means that I got up around 9:30, showered, purchased my two sausage biscuits from McDonald’s and my Café Mocha from Starbucks, and went to work. That was all fine and dandy, but after that everything went downhill.

To start with, we ran out of Pizza sauce at work. How are you supposed to make pizzas without any sauce? We managed to scrounge up 2 bags, enough to last for a few hours, but not the whole entire night. So from like 4pm onwards, all pizzas were made with Sweet Sauce, and I’m sure the customers didn’t appreciate that. I however, got a chuckle out of it.

To top off that start of the day, I was delivering a pizza to a house on Washington Street, and turned into the wrong mansion. I promptly turned around in this guy’s driveway, which had a new Lexus parked on it, and stopped for traffic to go next door to a run down house. Only in Columbus do you have shacks next to $200,000 homes. Anyhow, I thought the way was clear; I looked both directions, and didn’t see anything. The next sound I heard with this Chevy Avalanche locking its brakes up, a few away from T-boning me into the driver’s door. I slammed on the gas, enough to have Traction Control kick in. He barely missed me. I wasn’t wearing a seatbelt, and if he hit me head on, I would have been thrown into the passenger door at 40 miles per hour. My head would have shattered on the glass, knocking me unconscious. If I was lucky, I wouldn’t be thrown outside the window, and slide along the rough pavement. For the 7^th time, I got lucky. I walked away.

My narrow escape was on the back of my mind all though work the rest of the night. What if I did die? What if I was knocked unconscious, and couldn’t speak of my wishes for my health care? Does anyone actually know what my wishes are? I don’t think so.

I don’t want to be on life support for an indefinite period. I don’t want to be a vegetable, a Teri Schivo wasting away for years. Then again, I don’t want the plug pulled too early. But no one knows my wishes regarding this. Life support for a short time is desirable, but a lifetime with a machine keeping me alive isn’t. As Marilyn Monroe said, “It’s better to burn out, than fade away.” I’d rather die instantly, rather than slowly over time. There is nothing sweet in life when you’re attached to a machine, be it a respirator keeping your lungs pumping oxygen, or a dialysis machine clearing toxin’s out of your blood because your kidney’s just got scrambled in a car wreck. In those cases, if it’s permanent, pull the plug: let me die.

What would happen if I died? I want no Last Rites, no memorial service in a church, or a Christian burial. I will not be remembered as a loyal son of the Holy Father, or anything to that fact. The memory of my death will not be betrayed by burying me in a Christian fashion. I’m sure some member’s of Holy Trinity, the church I was forced to become a member of in my teenage years, might want to attend. That is fine, but the service is non-religious. No prayer’s to be said. My family might take solace in thinking I’m in a better place, but if God does exist, I shall rot in hell for eternity. Myself, I think I will absolve into the void—into nothingness. That is enough for me.

Personally, I would get some macabre satisfaction in being buried north to south, with my arms broken and my legs dismembered. Weird yes, but that is how heretics were buried in the Dark Ages. Of course back then, their heads were severed also. This would be my last hurrah against an institution that in my adult life, I have no faith what-so-ever in. I shall not be remembered with any Christian zeal, only for the fact I lived my life, and gave no thought to any universal being. I swear to god…if I get buried in a Christian burial, I will return beyond the grave to haunt those who preformed this final betrayal on me. To be buried like that is akin to thirty pieces of silver, Judas.

There we go, rudimentary wishes in case of my own demise and in case I can’t make those wishes known. Perhaps I need to look into a living will, legally binding those who take care of my death to see to my wishes. I wonder how much those cost…

I’ve always cared too much. I’ve always been a shoulder for random women to cry upon. I’ve always set myself like that. I find people who are hurting, and try to make them better. Or, that’s what I try to tell myself. The truth is a lot more sinister than that.

I am nothing, if not, a sexual person. That is my one definite characteristic. I womanize too much, gaze too much, and spend too much time in search of my next sexual fix. This brings up problems more often than not. This hurts people.

I can never say I’ve had a steady girlfriend. I don’t get attached. All that I see is a pussy to be licked or fucked, and a mouth to satisfy me. That is my view. That is what I search for. Everyone I know is a sexual object to me, someone I’ve fucked, or want to fuck. All except one, that is.

Ginger is someone special. I’ve never met Ginger before in my life, but talk to her online, using Yahoo, and the phone. Ginger is the exception, someone I can care about, without wanting to fuck and use. She is the one woman I can still see myself talking to in five years. But tonight, I put that in jeopardy.

Ginger has a sister, Gena. Ginger (24 years) and Gena (31 years) aren’t really close. They have a reason not to be. Gena molested and abused Ginger when she was younger. Ginger told me a story about her sister putting a foam block on her lap, and then stabbing it with a knife, telling Ginger “she was next.” That single image gave me chills the night she told me, and I lost a lot of sleep because of it. Ginger also told me she thought she was a lesbian, and was afraid to even kiss a boy until she was 17. My heart is full of sympathy for Ginger, and some hate for Gena.

This complicated things when Gena moved into an apartment and we started talking. My drive then was to find out more about Gena, since I’ve talked to plenty of abused women, but never the abusers themselves. I suppose I had some academic interest in finding out more about Gena, why she was the way she was, and most importantly, why she abused Ginger. I suppose part of me knew she was a sexual person (more likely) and if I happened to enjoy myself along the way, so be it.

I’ve really only talked to Gena for a few weeks, maybe 3, but for a few hours at a time. I got kind of close to her, putting her past behind her, and learning about the new her. Until tonight that is. I was watching her webcam, and she starts teasing it, moving her blouse down more and more. Evidently she was playing with someone near her on cam. I, of course, got turned on by this. And when she shut me off, something inside me snapped. I wasn’t the kind Aaron anymore; I was a beastral rage, shooting off questions to why she abused her sister and the like. All of this was because she was being a tease, and enjoying it.

That made me mad. That made that image of Gena abusing Ginger pop into my head again. This wasn’t the person that I was enjoying talking to 30 minutes beforehand. She was someone else, someone near-human, but not. I was seeing red, my blood was boiling, and I wanted answers. I didn’t find any.

I actually did enjoy talking to Gena. When Ginger wasn’t around, it was nice to just have someone to talk to. Tonight, I lost Gena. Tomorrow, I loose Ginger. All this happened because I wanted answers to someone else’s life. I want to know why Ginger had a fucked up childhood. I want to know why Ginger hated her sister so much. I want answers. I needed answers.

Tomorrow, when Ginger reads the instant messages I left her, she will know all that happened. Tomorrow, I will loose Ginger’s trust. Tomorrow, I will loose someone who I really enjoyed talking to, who made me smile. I always start out with people with quasi-noble goals, and always bring ruin to lives. With Elise, it was her husband finding out she was a cutter, and thinking we were having an affair. With Sarah, it was her thinking she was used. With Amy, it was a night of bad sex after a steamy phone affair. Three lives I have touched. Three lives I have fucked up. With Ginger and Gena, that count raises to five.

What can I learn from this? Maybe I shouldn’t be playing with fire, maybe I should actually try to find someone I can love, and not someone I can learn all about, and manage to fuck up. Sadly, I don’t think I will get anything out of this. If by any chance, I’m still talking to Ginger, it will be a month of rebuilding trust. I will have to come to terms with the idea that she might not feel comfortable with me anymore. Not that she was that comfortable with me talking to her abuser either.

But, I broke the sacred trust to not talk to Gena about the things we talked about. And I didn’t have to tell her. Gena said she would be quiet. I want to tell Ginger though, and that’s the scary part. For once in my life, a girl is more than sex personified to me. And again, I endangered it. I feel like a total piece of trash, and I can’t sleep.

This has been the cream of a terrible week. I have never been this stressed in a long time, and I fear it’s turning into depression. The winter months are coming, and with them, come feelings of more general uneasiness. I hate this time of the year, and I’m always in the worst mood. Because I’m so tense now, I fucked up one of the better things I may have had going. It’s not for sure though, and I left Ginger a message to call me ASAP.

I suppose we’ll find out in a few hours now.