Why I Committed Suicide by sam paul Read Free Book Online

a great big flashing neon “worlds biggest dumbass” tattooed right on my forehead. Her concern was sincere but unapologetic, so I just nodded dumbly or said I was okay or something, anything to get the hell out of there. The walls in her apartment that seemed so cozy before were small and cramped all of a sudden. I needed to leave. Right then. I knew Jenifer could see that I was barely holding it in and definitely on the verge of freaking out but she wouldn’t let me go, making me look her in the eyes to see if I was ok before the grip on my shoulders relaxed. I just nodded and I guess the situation had been salvaged as much as it was going to get because I left. I walked right out the door with her standing beautifully naked in her sheet and her roommates watching us like an episode of the fucking “Real World”.
    I stopped on the way home and put my hand right into the middle of the biggest pile of fire ants that I could find and just let them crawl over my flesh while I cried, the ants biting and injecting their poison into me until I could finally feel the pain physically. It felt good to feel something again, and it felt good that it was painful. Of course now I realize that was really fucking stupid because my hand has swollen up to twice its size and its full of poison which itches madly, but it was what I needed at the time.
    In retrospect I guess I’m flattered that she reacted so quickly to come and talk to me, rushing out of the bedroom in the middle of doing it and all, but what the FUCK! Dammit I feel like such an ass. I know she likes me, probably even loves me because she was scared she had hurt me but even though it’s comforting to know she cares, it hurts a lot more now that I’ve seen them together. I guess I can’t accept her being with him out of casual habit anymore. There has to be more between them that I don’t know about. I’m a fucking fool for thinking a relationship of a month and a half could compete with what they’ve had for so many years. A harsh reality check for me I guess but necessary. I just wish I didn’t love her so fucking much now. Mea Culpa I guess. Fuck it.
    You know I’ve always wished I had a widow’s peak. There’s just something about having your hair come to a point on your forehead that says “I am mysterious, I have influential powers of darkness at my disposal.” I think maybe it’s some sort of Dracula complex, I’ve just always been fascinated with somebody’s hair making an independent decision about the best way to frame a face. Oh well, one of life’s mysteries I guess. Maybe the reason I mention the hair thing is because my hair is starting to get long again finally. Last year it was down past my shoulders, a savage blonde mane that I defiantly chopped off half of in one of those spite-my-girlfriend-adolescent-rage-type deals. Most men don’t realize what a pain in the ass it is to grow out your hair really long. All that shampooing and conditioning and combing and constantly preening is ludicrous, no wonder women are all crazy. You can’t turn your head a certain way or your vision gets obstructed, you can’t ride in a convertible or you get knots, you can’t even do anything cool like put it in girly pigtails. If you are a guy there are three options: ponytail, not a ponytail, or stuffed under a hat. Bald men probably would be shocked in disbelief at my heresy (bad pun) but picking hair out of my ass every time I bathe is a constant chore that nobody thinks of until they are in the maw of the beast. My hair is a beast that consumes my head and accumulates smoke, dust and pizza grease juice funk like a wet old smelly mop.
    I know I haven’t written much of anything since I found Jenifer and Kristoff together in the sack a few weeks ago, but I guess things have actually gotten more intimate between me and Jenifer since then. Whatever happened that day just happened. We both know there will have to be a choice of some sort soon but we