anniv The text message from my little sister read: mom and dads anniv was on wed. It was friday and I had completely forgotten it. I hadn't once thought about it on wednesday, not on thursday, and for a second, when I read her text, I didn't think of it,not even then. I wanted to reply. I like to reply to texts. I didn't, but I would have said something like: I need to get a datebook. Or: Oh crap, I feel awful. Maybe: Thanks. I thought 'Thanks' would have been somewhat ambiguous as far as tone. And that was funny to me. At the time of the text I wasn't trying to be funny. If I was my reply would have been: Yeah I realize that bitch. Or: Who? Maybe: What is an anniv you dickhead.

What I did do was continue doing what I was doing, putting the phone back in my pocket first. I was working in the dental aisle, putting away the delivery. I opened a tote, it was full of toothbrushes and toothpaste, of various flavors and manufacturers. It was dense. I closed the lid and opened the next tote. It was footcare, which shares the aisle with dental. It was not dense. I organized it a bit and put it up. I thought of something else to say to my sister: why didn't you tell my this on wednesday? Later there was the suffix: you whore. Because I think it's funny to write a text saying things like you whore, or you bitch, to my little sister. Of course, this would never happen. But I know my friends would find it hilarious. Fuck my friends. Just kidding.

I took the empty totes to the backroom, leaving three totes for someone else to do. I did not want to be at work later than 5 and it was 5:15. I talked to my manager for a bit.

Manager: Well I've got both the new girls coming in on Sunday, which is good. But my Sunday is shot.

Me: Yeah.

I don't know, we talked. I drove home. I thought of ways to buy a pack of cigarettes without spending money and without starting to smoke again. I came up with the idea of smoking one of the two pipes I keep in my top dresser drawer. I liked the idea a lot. I walked up the stairs to my apartment smiling. I was a little worried I had thrown away the tobacco. But I had some. It was in a small tin, the exact size as an Altoids tin. It's called University Flake. The pipe and tobacco were both courtesy of the same person. She sleeps in my sleeping bag. Even though it's not hers. And even though I let her, she still does it.

I smoked it like a cigarette. Out the back door. Thought my neighbors were watching me. I inhaled. I had to keep lighting it, the tobacco looked evil when I inhaled. I sat down, everything seem to pause and I felt peaceful. And a little sedated.

I wanted to call my house, talk to my parents, try to become a good son again. My dad answered. It was good to talk to him. And it was a little bad. Mostly good.

My Dad: We went to Bobby MaGee's. I had a hoagie.

Me: That's nice.

I told him about some things I regreted telling him because it gave him a reason to tell me the same stuff he always tells me. Depressing stuff. Stuff that is hopeless and without remedy. A house that would have been paid for this month, the mortgage refinanced for an extra 30 years. No pension. 52. Debt and work. Life feels so shitty when I talk to my Dad. How can you live day to day without any hope of living?  ¶ 7:22 PM