Tears fall


Stop being such a crybaby.

The zombie van (it lives on and on without ever dying) is filled with the left overs from my camping trip.

I can’t get the energy to unpack. Doing so seems like I’m admitting failure. I’m no quitter, but with tears threatening I’m wondering why I bother anymore.

This was my first solo trip since my wife left me. I went to a place that I love, the beach. Planning the trip I was so full of hope and promise. A single man on an adventure.

Seems like the adventure was all in my head, a place where I am spending more and more time. I need to start living in reality.

At the beach, everywhere I looked I saw whole families, and couples, I felt like a fool.

Turning to my usual coping mechanism, I located the closest liquor store and spent the next six days drunk and less drunk.

I starting drinking every day at 10am not stoping, until after dinner, passing out at dark, only to wake, walk the beach before the normal people arrived. In the morning I would occupy my time with introspection and recriminations. Returning midmorning for breakfast and then back to drinking.

It rained most days about 2pm, with a deluge ending my stay o, so I balled up my wet tent and headed home where I sit now looking at the sodden wrinkled mass laying sadly on the drive.

That’s my life right there I thought as tears welled up. A sodden wrinkled mass abandoned on the concrete. And to top it off, you can’t stop crying long enough to even try to make it other than a mess. What a sad fuck you turned out to be.

Sitting here I need a friend to just sit with me and let me talk, but the end of a marriage usually ends the friends you still had. New friends are hard to come by when you are a depressed drunk.

This is where, as a responsible author, I’m supposed to turn the story, provide a ray of hope. Inset some humor or moral lesson, but this is real life my friend. Real life ends in shit and piss. So get over it and move along.

© The Autobiography of Mr. Perfect, 2013

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5 Responses to Tears fall

  1. night owl says:

    Ahem….I’ll assume this is a tale of outright lies. You HAVE a new friend. I’m not chopped liver, ya know.

    I like the tent symbolism. a friend of mine uses a tent as a symbol of a woman’s sexual draw, calling being under her power as “in her sexual tent”. I see a correlation.

    • rlherb says:

      Yes you are, thank you. I started this piece sometime back, and didn’t post it because it was too similar to the others I had posted earlier in the day. After dinner with a friend where we discussed our volumes of unedited material I went back and realized I really liked this piece, so after a poor drunken attempt at editing, posted it. Thanks for reading it.

      • night owl says:

        You’re welcome.

        I remember you wrote that all your pieces were written on your phone, so I blame all the typos on fat fingering. 🙂

  2. Kimra says:

    The picture! Anyone can be sad. It’s easy. But that photo is a-maze-ing. Pick up your crumpled tent & take more pics!

    • rlherb says:

      Thanks, that picture was taken on the beach, the faint at heart had already left for shelter. I stayed in hopes of a deluge, but it also passed me by. But it paused to let me snap its pic

      Thank you

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