#journers

Went out again to Booster’s last night.  At first I was enjoying myself.  The women out there do look nice!  The band was pretty good, I like blues music alright.  Kinda fitting for my mood.  After they closed at 2:00 am, I went next door to a place called Charlie Tuck’s. This place is mostly a pool hall. I started drinking coffee once I arrived.  The last thing I need is a DWI!

I guess after all the other places close, people come to Charlie Tuck’s since they stay open til 5 am.  I was just sitting there, watching Nascar on the big screen tv, when some guy came up and started talking to me.  This place isn’t a queer bar, but come to find out, this idiot was!  I was trying to mind my own business and watch tv, when this son-of-a-bitch started to rub on my arms and back!  That was it!  I brushed his hands away and told him to take his faggot ass somewhere else!  I guess it pissed him off because after that, he tried to put me in a headlock.  He tried, but somehow I ended up with a beer bottle in my hand.  I don’t know, it was just reaction I guess.  I hit him in the face and broke the bottle.  Hell, his face was split wide open!  Blood gushing everywhere!  By this time, the bouncers had come over and took us outside.  The police showed up within minutes and I told them what had happened.  Luckily another guy from the bar came out and confirmed my story.  The police took that fag to the hospital and I went back inside to have another cup of coffee.  I got the feeling that one of the bartenders was pissed at me for making such a bloody mess for him to clean up, so I left and went back to the shop.

Why do I attract faggots and not women?!  I’ve always had a problem with faggots hitting up on me.  At one point, even Donna thought me and my friend Darryll might’ve had something going on.  I don’t know why people think of me that way!  If only I had this problem with women!  But no, it’s only the fags I attract.  They can all go fuck themselves, not me.

It’s now 11:30 pm, Sunday night.  Nothing is new.  Still haven’t heard a word from Donna.  I told my mother to get with Donna and help her in whatever way she needs it.  

I still don’t know what I’m going to do.  Yes, I am very confused.  I’ve been thinking of leaving here since no one is happy to have me around, especially Donna and even my own mother!  Maybe I should tell mom to take over the business.  This way if it fails, people could blame her for its failure, not me. I think I should tell Donna to do whatever she wants with the business.  Sell it or go for it, I don’t really care anymore.  I just know that if I stay here much longer, I could end up being the one responsible for its failure.  For now I’m just confused as to what will be the best decision.  I’m confused about ANY decision!

I will be leaving for Dallas here in a few minutes.  I need to go get some parts for the shop.  It will also give me some time to think while I’m driving.  If I should have an accident (not intentionally, of course), I would hope to go fast so that people won’t be left feeling sorry for me like the last time.  I can’t handle being helpless and not able to care for myself again.  The pain and mental anguish that a person in that situation has to go through isn’t worth a shit.  Well, not so much the pain, but the mental shit I had to endure from Donna and from mom.  At times I wish I had died that day.  Here we are, nearly two years later and I still have problems.  Donna was a tremendous help in my recovery, and I do appreciate her for that.  She is my best friend, well, she WAS my best friend.  Now I don’t think I have any TRUE friends.

The night of the accident, Donna had my bags packed, ready to kick me out.  I think the only reason she stayed during my recovery was because she felt sorry for me.  She wanted me to get better and I thank her with all my heart but it’s almost bittersweet.  Now that I’ve recovered and able to take care of myself, it seems that she’s trying to release me from her care.  I don’t know that for sure, but that’s the way it looks to me.  

Whatever.  It doesn’t matter anymore.  I’m trying to get used to the mental pain, but damn, it’s awful.