The plumber sat in his truck, thinking about going inside. Every day since his wife left, he sat in his truck with a six-pack debating going in. Melissa was all he had since they were twenty and met drunk in bar. He was arguing with a man and turned to see a woman was arguing with the man's wife. Ever since that bar fight, the pair had been inseparable. Yet, after the miscarriages and her becoming distant and hiding her phone, he had to try harder and harder to keep them together. Until one day, he came home with a six pack and a bouquet of roses to see her in bed with someone else. His best fucking friend. She left three days later, telling him that she was expecting a kid with Bill and they were moving to Kentucky.

The plumber put his truck in drive and revved the engine. He opened three beers and chugged them, put the truck in drive and sped the truck into his house. He could still hear Melissa screaming as he pinned Bill down and started beating his ass. She was his first love, though that was silly. He was well in his thirties when they met and had just clicked. He couldn't believe she could just--How could she just--Bill was bleeding all over his shirt and the plumber felt dizzy. He had never liked blood. His ears were ringing and Melissa was still screaming in his ears even though she had left years ago. She had already had her child, then another then a third. Though the plumber had a good job and was generally nice, she still left him.

The plumber could hear sirens in the distance. Hazily, he tried to get himself out of his truck. Then, he heard the sweetest voice he could ever imagine. Sir, don't try to get up. A white halo circled the silhouette of a woman with curly hair. Just lay back, I've got you. The woman chuckled nervously. You've sure done a number on yourself. I'm Jenny. Just relax. I'm not sure what made you do this, but I've got you now.

The room cools around me. The water I have soaked myself in dyes my clothes in crimson. I didn't think it would turn out this way. Maybe they'll forgive me. My arms are too weak and became too weak after I lost control. I can't believe I lost control. The sadness... The voices in my head that I fight daily finally won. They coaxed me back to the blade and directed me to play the symphony that every edgy teenager who has ever had a touch of sadness writes about.

You never know what you have until its gone is what they say. Maybe I didn't only have sadness. The saddest time in my life and my old friend is nowhere to be found. Maybe he's out celebrating his big victory while I lay on the mat reeling from the fight. I can see my breath now, watching my soul slowly slip out and go to God to explain this. What's my explanation? God, the sadness... The sadness, Lord. My man laid on a cross and died for us and I slit my wrists over losing a job and not having money to get my dreams. The lights are dimming now and I'm losing my vision.

The fight has left me breathless, sweaty, and tired. I hear the sirens in the distance and wonder if my note is good enough. Did I apologize enough? Will my family forgive me? Will my friends ever recover? Slipping like I did in the bathtub when I tried to fight again before the final blow, I lay there watching the lights flicker. I see Emily's fly buzzing, hear Hemingway's hyenas in the distance. How will they donate all my books? What will they think of me after I'm gone. The light flickers and flickers and flickers and flickers and flickers--

Hold me close while we eat popcorn

And watch Jerry Seinfeld as a bee.

Laugh with me as Samuel L Jackson

Yells about the motherfucking snakes

On this motherfucking plane.

Pinch me playfully as I feel around

For the lost Mike and Ikes after

I jump from the jarring image of the

1990s Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles.

I want to make Kool-aid with you

While telling you how much I loved it

Years ago before taste and grace

Were things I valued as a person.

Let me rant as we peruse the newest

FOX and CBS have to offer.

Know how much I love mediocrity,

Let me wade in it gleefully, like in a car

Driving down the street with Taylor Swift

Blasting despite our disdain for pop music.

Join me in my pursuit of the mundane,

The mediocre, the terrible, and the worst.

In fact, let's make it a date.

"What more do you want?" he whispered, clutching at the asphalt.

She stood before him, tentacles wiggling. I giggle, eliciting an angry look. I don't do anime easily. The ADHD medicine was wearing off for the night but I didn't want to tell him I was sleepy. I wanted to spend as much time as possible in this little weekend of March with this boy I found and decided I loved. Pathetic, I know. The anime kept playing, but there was no focusing on it. I was more focused on what it will feel like in March. Three months from now feels so short for me. I bite my tongue and check my phone again. He already broke up with me, yet the delusional part of me brushed it off.

Maybe he meant it though, the irrational parts think. He's not too busy; I was just too much. I always do this, I lament to my therapist days later. I just am not sure why I drive people away. Maybe I just get too attached based on spiritual feelings. Maybe I'm just hungry for love and will take it from whoever will give it to me. I want to ask but I can't text again today. There's no reason to. There's no excuse to ask a question that needs no answer. I'd rather sit in the dark with my thoughts, those thoughts that think to March when I meet him for the first time, if I meet him at all.

The anime flashes red on my face as the main character, Izuku I think, sends blood splattering. Maybe I should be paying attention. I wish I was laying n his chest, pretending to watch the TV when I'm really focused on his scent. Yeah, that'll make someone stay. "What do you smell like?" God I'm weird. I've been told people like me for that. He seemed to like me for that... I wonder why I'm even trying with this anime. I'm sure there are other things to talk about. I almost write stalk. Am I stalker for trying to relate to someone? Is this not normal?

The credits roll on a cliffhanger, and it's bedtime. I don't want to go still, even though I'm alone in the dark. My mind is racing. The what-ifs are sitting on my chest suffocating me. What if that bubble really has burst and it's over? What if when I go in March, he says no to meeting me? What if I have done it again and ruined everything all over again? The bubble around me shrinks, trapping me with me thoughts, but when I wake up, I realize it hasn't broken, or even been scratched. Does that make me hopeful or delusional, and will I really have to wait three months to know?

We always talk about the rollercoaster but never the line. The feet-hurting, yawn-inducing yawn to get to the crescendo that will make life worth doing. This year was the line. I don't remember much of anything of this year except that I had a mental breakdown and that I had to go to a mental hospital. The result has been a hellish three months of trying to get back to some form of normalcy. Even sitting and writing this feels like standing in an 85 minute wait line on a balmy summer day at an amusement park. This year ended with a bang and I am hoping the finish will be better than where I am right now.

Hoping for better

After the shitty year

Pandemics and masks,

Putin and Ukraine and

Young people dying daily.

Nothing

Ever

Wavers

Yet, I still hold

Eager hope that

After twenty-three years

Real change will happen.

Dragons, shut up about the fucking dragons. The commercial plays on repeat as I try to close my eyes and go to sleep. I used to be able to just roll over but now I have to distract myself with Hoarders to go to sleep. I think about how cool a clean hoard that was shaped like a fortress would be. Strategically assembled to be safe and secure and allow easy passage. A cozy place for me to pretend to be a dragon, squirreling my belongings away where I can rest in peace.

Religion is always touchy for people, since the thought of living in a snow globe forces people to question just how meaningful their lives are. I personally have always believed in God, Jesus, and the works. I read the Bible like I used to read comic books, eagerly flipping from page to page watching miracles happen. I pray like I'm talking to an old friend and always feel the yellow cellophane protection of the man upstairs.

This is mainly because of angels. The angels, or the works mentioned above, are the guardians and protectors of humanity. They have these humongous wings and are beings of light according to the parts of the Bible I've read and reread. They're Christian superheroes, esentially, and I enjoy talking about them. There are so many attributes that make them the coolest thing on my mind, yet talking about anything reomtely religious makes people go up in arms.

I want to write about a kids show about angels. Similar to Veggie Tales but less preachy and Power Rangers but more serious, the show would revolve around angels saving people. However, this country's relationship with religion is such materialistic bullshit that I can't think of a way to make a good show without it getting shot down or changed to be something I don't like. America uses Christianity to cover their asses, and I want my show to be someting authentic.

So far, there is a school for the angerls located in the heart of Texas. The school is a Christian school (obviously) and has four levels. All the angels are on the fourth level, and are being sent out to try to earn their wings. Their wings symbolize graduation. They are sent to live in an apartment and they help people in the complex with their issues through a vareity of ways. There would be an element of "magic" (miracles) as well as a positive message about helping others and being a good person. I'm hoping I can make that work somehow.