The Locked Groove
—in the morning I wake up wondering where I am. My mouth tastes like the death of a child. I drink water feverishly, desperately. I look at the internet. I take a shower and sing ten seconds, over and over, of whatever song is stuck is my head (today it’s “Bad Light” by Built to Spill). I do the guitar parts, the drums, the works. I have two towels since my wife moved out, so I alternate between them. I’m all what the fuck is up with my hair. I turn away from the mirror while Sonicaring my teeth, I guess because I look dumb.
I take the elevator down 17 floors, go through a revolving door, walk one block, go through a revolving door, go up three floors to my office. I’m a copywriter at a marketing agency. I drink a Muscle Milk, which is embarrassing for any number of reasons. I type.
I go home for lunch. I eat what is basically a sandwich with no bread. I watch something on the computer. Today it’s just the Russell Brand scenes in Forgetting Sarah Marshall. I rewind this part where he says “That’s a really reductive impression” and laugh and watch it a few times and say it a few times myself, and get up and walk around the apartment a little. I look out my window which has a nice view of downtown Denver and the mountains. I make the bed.
I go back to work and type some more and then I go home. I chatter to myself constantly. I look at the internet. I play video games (today it’s Costume Quest, which is so cute and funny and fun) and watch random bits of stuff on Netflix (today it’s the middle of the Arrested Development with Justine Bateman, the beginning of The Whole Nine Yards, the beginning of Fright Night, which I decide to save for Halloween).
I drink a cocktail out of an Achewood pint glass. I work on Chokeville, frequently getting up to walk around the apartment and look out the window. I act out the dialogue and wish I could make movies instead of write stories because you can get so much more meaning and nuance when there’s an actual person saying the words.
I go downstairs to the gym and do the treadmill for an hour. Today, the TV showed nothing but political commercials. I listen to songs and podcasts and standup comedy, rarely settling on any one thing for longer than a couple minutes. Some songs I find to be emotionally overwhelming at the time, but I think it’s just because they’re loud (“Smack My Bitch Up” by the Prodigy, “Love on the Rocks (With No Ice)” by the Darkness, “Soon” by MBV).
I go back upstairs and eat something. Today it’s a pre-made chicken and asparagus thing I got at the grocery store. This is around 11 o’clock. I look at the internet. There are emails I want to send but I’m not allowed to until the morning when I can make sure I’m not saying something I’ll regret. I get in bed and look at the city and—
