Pandora's Box

The deadline is tomorrow and I'm not sure what I'm going to do. To be honest, I didn’t think that I'd be around this long. That's really no excuse. It's not going to get me anywhere, either, so there's no point in bringing it up.

Let's see where I'm at: four beers in and zero boxes packed. Doesn’t really seem like it's worth it to pack any boxes. Where would I put them? If Mom and Dad were still around, I could stuff them in the attic. Hell, if they were still around, I probably would have moved back home a long time ago. It's humbling, that's for sure. Not as humbing as hitting the streets, though.

Now there's a thought. I could crash at Tyler's. Wouldn't have any place to stuff my shit, but I'd have a roof over my head. Tyler's a dick, though. If you're going to feed homeless people, keep religion and politics to yourself, that's what I say. It's enough humiliation to eat at the free table, but debating whether God exists or not with someone who doesn’t even have so much as a tent is just bad service. Guess it never stopped them from coming to the feedings. I stopped, though. What does that say about me? Can't put up with an asshole enough to feed some homeless people. Now I'm about to be one of them. Is that irony? I should have paid more attention in school.

Yeah, I bet if I worked real hard, spent all my nights doing homework, I would have gotten a nice full ride to University Of Arkansas. Tuition's cheaper for state residents. I probably could have done something, probably could have become someone. Yeah, if I had the money, I wouldn't have even needed to work hard. Why did Mom and Dad have to be so poor?

Don't trust that thought. That's not a real thought. I'm just drunk. Why do I have to be such a lightweight? Well, maybe if I ate more, I'd be able to drink more. Except, that's less fun per beer.

Doesn’t feel fun anymore, though. Maybe if someone was around to drink with. I could call someone. Who'd bother, though? You move two states away for a job or something, and that's the death knell. What I really should have spent my time on was making friends. Now, if I'd Made more friends, I'd have somewhere to go, someone to go to. Maybe even a place to stuff all of my shit.

It might just be time for ‘plan B.’ I'm drunk enough, and no one's going to miss me. The two bottles of benadryl behind the mirror ought to do it - make my heart stop. No paper around to leave a note, but who would read it anyway? I can see it already: the landlord walks in, squints at my cadaver just lying there on the floor and says to himself, “Great. Another mess to clean before my meeting at noon.”

Do landlords even have meetings? Who knows. That's what I really should have done. I should have been a landlord. I'm sure by the fourth or fifth eviction my heart would have hardened enough to the wails of the newly homeless. Would have made plenty of money on that, and I wouldn't have had to worry about the robots taking my job. A robot can't be a prick, not the way a human can. Sure, you can program the thing to swear at you, but the robot doesn't really know what you're feeling. The robot's just doing what it's made for.

Really, I should have been a robot. Except, you can't really do that if you're a person, can you? I'd still have to eat, so I'd still need money. It's not really fair that the robots don't need money but they get all of the good jobs. Hell, they get all of the bad jobs, too. What would Mom and Dad think of that?

God. Is this my life? Can't even compete with a robot over a job where someone yells at me for eight hours. I really should kill myself. It'd be a mercy.

I can’t really remember the last time I smiled. Really smiled, I mean. Not like you do when you pass a neighbor while getting the mail. I was hoping I'd get one more of those before I did it, but hope was at the bottom of Pandora's box. I got a couple more beers left in the case. Probably ought to finish those before I do it. I wouldn’t want anything to go to waste.