It started off in a typical way. Getting up at 1pm or something. Except, I was awakened not by a dream of Eva Habermann, only to find myself cruelly thrust into the real world, but by the telephone. It was the phone company saying they were on their way to fix my DSL modem. The DSL modem I've had for over a week and haven't used once (right up until this very moment).

The repairman bravely entered my apartment. Everything is a wreck. I spent the weekend rearranging my office, so the DSL modem could be connected to the phone outlet. I took the opportunity to throw out anything I haven't touched in over a month, since I'm preparing to move when they raise my rent again. I want to rent a house owned by a nice old lady. A house with no dumb-ass neighbors who let their car doors slam full-force into my newish car. A house with no screaming brats running around the hallways. A house with a nice back yard where I can grow poppies.

I digress. The DSL guy waded through all of my accumulated junk. Even though the office room is in order, the rest of the apartment has gone to pot. My sink was full of dirty dishes. The living room I haven't spent any time in in months was covered with a film of dust. My bed was unmade and a total wreck. Piles of dirty clothes, cat toys everywhere, ashtrays overflowing, Dr. Pepper cans falling out of the very fabric of space-time. Of course, the guy had to search every filthy crevice for the entry point of the phone line.

The whole scene was gruesome to say the least. The height of the entire experience was when we moved my dresser so he could get to the phone jack behind it (it turns out that was the one where the phone line entered the apartment). He knelt down to get to the phone jack and my telephone/alarm clock (haven't used that in a while) slid off the television and hit him on the head. After that, he moved a pile of junk out of the way, including the shotgun that was ready to fall over and blow his head off.

Eventually, he left, with his body and soul barely intact. He fixed the modem, but I still have to wait 5 to 7 days for the static IPs, so I'm still on the stupid cable modem.

Next, I managed to talk to no less than two ex-girlfriends. the first time in nearly a year. One had a baby a few weeks ago. The other is due in four weeks. I don't know why, but that put me in a funk. I'm not romantically interested in either one, so I can't explain my reaction, really.

After making it through these enlightening conversations and spending nearly five hours explaining CVS to a coworker over ICQ, I found myself laying in bed, curled up like a fetus. The phone rang. I ignored it. It was a male voice on the answering machine. I laid in bed a half hour or so sandwiched between two cats before deciding to see what the phone call was about.

Ahhh... Chuck... a friend I had made at a job I had about five years ago. We had a mutual friend who was, to put it bluntly, one of the most fucked-up people I have ever met.

Chuck's voice was shaking on the answering machine, "I'm laying low, man. I'm in SomeCity because JohnDoe put a hit out on me. I was wondering if you still had those fucked-up letters he wrote to give to my lawyer."

That deserves some explanation. JohnDoe, during a heart-broken moment, wrote some "poetry" in which he described the joy of inflicting pain on someone. Cutting them. Watching the blood pour out. Etc. I collected these treasures and kept them for posterity, thinking maybe in a moment of desperation, I could publish them as a collection of children's bedtime stories.

Unfortunately for Chuck, I tossed these out while cleaning up the office and dumping everything I haven't touched in a month.