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Sunday, October 26, 2014

Purgatory Is No Place for Me

I'm back in Purgatory.

And in the town of Purgatory I'm sitting in coffee shop, sipping on something they dubbed El Chicano. I'm not sure who owns this place, but it's definitely not Chican@s. They also have Mexican and Mayan Mochas and something called a Carmella, which I'm guessing is them being clever with some type of drink that contains caramel, but why not make it sound like a Spanish name.

Not that I mind the El Chicano drink and whatever they dropped in it, to make it Chicano-ish. It tastes like maybe they used some Mexican chocolate de barra, but I can't be too sure. Other than that, their hours are shit, only open from 5am to 5pm. They used to be open longer years ago, but I'm guessing they no longer have enough people walking through the doors, so they felt a need to cutback on their hours. Nice thing about them is that they have a work in training program, so I feel drawn here for that reason alone--to apoyar.

Purgatory used to be nice when I was a young undergrad getting drunk para chingada, popping pills, and smoking weed. At one point I saw myself returning to Purgatory when I went off to the Midwest, But as the years passed, I didn't see myself returning here any longer. I actually did not even want to come back here. Maybe it was because I matured, I don't know. But it was one of those situations where an opportunity presented itself, and I would have been a pendejo not to take it.

I thought I would end up in a different location in California. I would have even been happy in another place in the Midwest, so I could continue seeing the changing seasons, especially the Fall. Well let me rephrase that. I would have been happy anywhere else in the Midwest so long as it didn't snow, if that were even be possible. The snow can still go fuck itself.

The nice thing about Purgatory is that it does have a lot of trees, so when the Fall season kicks in, the leaves begin to turn. Its like a little bit of the Midwest, but in the West. Minus the snow.

Why do I loathe Purgatory so much? Because it feels like I haven't moved forward.

I'm surrounded by too many drunkards that remind me of myself.

Aside from this, I had the Whatever She Was ask if she could come spend time in Purgatory to get away from her miserable life in the city. Well that and a miserable relationship that she had a hand in destroying. "Mi casa es tu casa," was essentially my response. She hadn't stopped self-medicating since the summer, by popping pills. I did offer to note that the place I'm currently living in is unfurnished and that she would find herself sleeping on the floor. Aside from that I wouldn't be much of a good host, because I spent most of my time on campus doing work. This didn't seem appealing to her, because she was in one of those states of mind, where she needed to cry and bare her soul; seriously in need of an ear and caring friend, or someone that she dated and possibly would have fucked if things had gone differently. But I've become selfish over the years, and fucking her although one of my lifelong goals, is no longer a priority. Now my priority as a responsible adult, is work. Well, that and I'm currently seeing someone else, and I doubt she would approve of my Whatever she Was staying at my place, even if it's me trying to be a good friend. I know. I'm a horrible person.

Nonetheless, here my Whatever she Was would have been alone, which would have been counterproductive, since she was already feeling alone in the big city.The only thing keeping her company would have been the mice I hear squeaking and crawling around in one of the boiler rooms in the apartment. That alone probably would have led her to pop enough Ativan to make her comatose, and I would have probably returned to find her near death or dead on my floor. Yay me.

"Well no detective, I have no clue why she's dead on my floor. My fault you say? Oh, because I should have been here listening to her, popping Ativan, getting high & drunk, and possibly fucking her. Well detective, then you should definitely cuff me, because I am a terrible and utterly horrible person for being selfish and not doing any of those things."

I've realized that the one thing that has kept me sane while back in Purgatory, besides talking to myself in the empty apartment, is writing (again).

XX
c/s

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