I can pull part of my body away from other parts of my body. My fat feels like a rubber mask. Today I look like Stephen Harper: “the Stubble Years.” We share an eight-dollar part, a full face, and heavy lips.
After fixing my bike my hands were covered in grease and I held them away from the handlebars to keep them from getting dirty. I was astonished by the amount of dirt collected by the gears. I have to learn how to clean it. “Where can I look that up on the internet?” A few days ago one of K.’s friends exploded a container of motor oil in the backseat of his car. “And so I asked him,” said K., “‘Do you take any pride in owning and maintaining your car?'” This was overheard by his friend’s father, who started howling. His friend is extremely careless with his things.
For some reason after posting earlier I thought about “Painsauce”, an online “journal” I kept three to five years ago. Some of my earlier posts there wanted to share things about my life that I was too ashamed to outright say. These things were trivial, or things that no one in his right mind would ever put up on the internet. I remember once making a post about an old girlfriend. Everything was a metaphor, something about two cars playing chicken in the desert. In my head I thought: “It’s obvious she’s going to break up with me, I should break with her, it’s obvious she’s going to break up with me.” In a secret place I thought: “Maybe she won’t break up with me?” She broke up with me.
What I think after posting today is: “Should I make more of my posts metaphors?” I wonder this because I worry that the post I made about bicycles, the post about spring and arguments, were both too boring. “I should have made the bicycle post a kind of opera,” I think. I don’t know what I could have done with the argument post. This is a post about uncertainty, as well as metaphor.