My Name Is Jimmy and You Better Not Wear It Out

When the damn ceiling was done looking at me like I was crazy, it started laughing. It was laughing its metaphorical ass off. And I don't know whether it was the way that the ceiling was laughing at me like I was the most stupid fucking person on the planet or the possibility that I was coming down from my high, but good lord was I PISSED.

I wanted to punch something. I wanted to shatter the fucking mirror and kick the fucking sink from its place on the wall and punch someone in the face all in the same movement.

Instead I found a permanent marker that someone left behind after their bathroom escapades.

So I picked it up.

And I just started writing.

All over the walls and inside of the stalls and I probably would've written on the ceiling's fat face if I could reach it.

That's right ceiling, I'm calling you fat.

The colors in my head were still being majorly trippy and so I could see all of the colors in the marker. The marker wasn't just black. It was purple and blue and green and all that other shit. I probably would've found this amazingly awesome if I was in any other sort of mind set. But I wasn't.

I was just mad.

I was mad that the world was spinning so fast that I couldn't feel it, I was mad that my mom didn't really care about me, I was mad that she took my car without asking, I was mad that she was too lazy to get up and try to get a REAL job instead of working at the Wendy's down the street, I was mad that Sara had cheated on me, I was mad at all the idiots in the world who just didn't get that emotions suck and we shouldn't have them anymore.

And I was mad at myself.

What in the hell was I doing here? Shitsville, USA, where nothing happened. You had to drive at least an hour or three to get to Jingletown, and the City was days away. I deserved fucking more. I deserved people who look up to me. I deserved people who actually CARE about the shit I do, who didn't think I was some dumb fuck who somehow got by in school.

My little "world" that I lived in was a complete fallacy compared to what other people were living. People in the City and people who lived beyond the clutches of Shitsville and Jingletown didn't even realize that my kind of living existed. The Land of Fucking Make Believe in Mr. Rodgers was way more real than my world.

If I wasn't living here in Shitsville, I could BE somebody. I could DO things.

And that's when I decided that I needed to get fucking out of that bathroom and out of Shitsville, USA.

And so I got out of that bathroom. And out of that 7-11.

And thank GOD that even when Tunny was tripping, he knew not to leave me behind because I cannot handle being alone when I'm high.

He was just sitting on the curb by his convertible, scarfing down chips like he hadn't eaten anything in a god damn week. I sat down next to him and he handed me a smoothie. Even when he was high he knew how to take care of me, that fucking freak.

I rested my head on his shoulder while I thought how I was going to phrase what I was going to say to him.

I DON'T CARE IF YOU DON'T. I DON'T CARE IF YOU DON'T. I DON'T CARE IF YOU DON'T. I DON'T CARE IF YOU DON'T CARE. EVERYONE IS SO FULL OF SHIT! BORN AND RAISED BY HYPOCRITES. HEARTS RECYCLED BUT NEVER SAVED. FROM THE CRADLE TO THE GRAVE. WE ARE THE KIDS OF WAR AND PEACE FROM ANAHEIM TO THE MIDDLE EAST. WE ARE THE STORIES AND DISCIPLES OF THE JESUS OF SUBURBIA, LAND OF MAKE BELIEVE AND IT DONT BELIEVE IN ME AND I DON'T CARE!