The Fix

I have found something better than any drug. Anything you could snort, sniff, drink or smoke. I have discovered my reason for being. The reason I wake every morning. The reason I haven’t killed everyone I don’t know. The reason I live. The reason I love. It’s my why. I’d kill for it. I’d die for it. I live for it. I love it.
It has given me the greatest high. It has contributed to my greatest lows. Though to this point I have few lows, so I don’t know if I can really get you to understand them. They’ve taken place internally. They were when I drank too much. When I smoked too much. I passed out hating myself for giving up on this. I woke angry for not doing it right then. When I don’t get my fix, I feel like a junkie trapped on a bathroom floor. One eye peering up the needle; wondering if I jab myself again, will I get more? When I don’t get it, I get edgy. I get antsy. I can’t live without it. I love it.
I used to hate it. But that’s only cuz the others didn’t get it. They never did. I tried numerous things to fill in for it. Band was fun. I still love music. I rap in hopes I could get it that way. But honestly who would buy me as a rapper. I’m white. I’m from Pittsburgh. Most of my high school was white. I went to a $30-something thousand a year college and am an engineer. I’m not a rapper. I’m a poet. At least that’s what I’d have you believe. I’m more of a storyteller. I have the most insane inner dialogue. And if I didn’t get my fix from time to time, there’d be a few more bodies. Sadly, I don’t think I’m joking.
I need this. More than oxygen. More than water. More than taking a piss. I need this. It keeps me regular. It keeps me even. When I didn’t have it, when I was younger, I lashed out at everyone. I had no friends. It was my fault though. I pushed everyone away. Not only did I not have my fix, I didn’t have basketball. Ah, the court. Everything makes sense out there. It’s beautiful. But it’s a matter of quantifying everything. I can’t exist solely in a world of numbers. Quantity can kiss the whitest part of my ass, which is basically everything around my pucker.
I love quality. I know my sense of humor doesn’t always show it. But I know the quality jokes from the poor ones. I make the poor ones just so you’ll shake your head and go, you’re a fucking idiot. Then when I make the quality ones. The ones you laugh out loud to. The ones you’re afraid to laugh at cuz they’re wrong. But deep down you and I both know you haven’t laughed that hard since we were little girls. That’s why I do it.
I just wanna touch you, but not in the Chris Hanson way. I wanna make you think. I wanna make you laugh. But most of all I want to make you cry. I wanna elicit that. There’s nothing better than that. If you walk away crying, whether you’re angry or you’re sad or you just empathize, you get it right there. That’s it. Crying is the basest thing I can get from you. But that’s still not what I need. That’s the response to what I need.
What I need. What I desire. What I crave is your attention. It’s what I can’t live without. It validates me. I know you’re looking at me. Whether it’s just to say, wow that’s a big dude or funny dude or funny looking dude. Whatever it is. I got you. You looked. You might not wanna be friends. You might not wanna fuck. You might not want to want anything from me. But I got you. That’s all I want. Can you see me? Can you hear me? I got you. As long as you see me. As long as I feel that I exist to you. That’s what I need. But please don’t confuse this. I don’t give a fuck what you think. I care if I have b.o. I care if I have something in my teeth. I don’t care if I farted and you know it was me. Etiquette dictates that you take it quietly. And if you do call me out on it, we’re going to be good friends.
That’s it though. I just need your attention. And the worst part is. I prefer the negative. I love getting booed. Anyone can be a good guy and get cheered. Fuck Hulk Hogan. Gimme Hollywood. Gimme the nWo. Time to say good night to the bad guy. It’s much easier to get cheered. I want you to hate me. I want you to look at me and go ‘ew fuck him’. The problem comes with the people that I genuinely like, when they get caught up too much in the posturing. They mistake that for me. It’s not. And I’d like to apologize to them. I’d name them all, but to my surprise the interweb is not infinite.