Wednesday, February 25, 2009

Please Send More Sand

Category: Issue 14

I remember a few years ago when I felt it tickling the underside of my chin.  I didn’t realize until then that the sand slowly washes away from around us.  My wife had been searching the Internet and had gotten herself hooked on conspiracy theories.  Her favorite was the Kennedy assassination.  She would spend hours looking at the Zap Rooter film, watching that poor woman sitting next to the president.  I’d had to start using liquor to keep our normal love-making schedule.  It was maddening.

At first it was just my lower rib cage where I felt detritus bumping up against me.  My legs and feet, of course, had always been free to feel the slime and garbage that flowed by us.  Now I realize that as the sand level slowly dropped (because of the Internet), my hips must have started getting pelted.  That was when my psychiatrist first perscribed the Xanax.  Perhaps I ignored what I felt because it was carrying my own shit away too.

But when I felt it at my chin, I started thinking about how other people must also be letting their waste go in here.  Certainly it disgusted me, but we’re all in it together, so I figured we’d be Ok.  I hadn’t minded so much when my wife left me.  She just up and left one evening after I had gotten our CPA to pack a bit more sand around my throat and shoulders.  It was tax time, and while I was asking her questions to fill out the forms, she swam straight up through the filth and I haven’t seen her since.  C’est la vie, eh?

That was about a year ago, and since then, the CPA was arrested for promoting tax evasion, so I’ve been looking for some other helping hands to get me some more sand, or maybe dig me a deeper hole.  As a matter of fact, one of my friends suggested getting a PS3 or an X-Box to take my mind off my missing wife.  He said I could borrow anything I wanted from his library of 340 games.  Another suggested I buy season tickets to the football games.  I do like football, but it just doesn’t hold my interest long enough.

The sand level has fallen past my eyeballs, and boy, the things I see now are really terrifying.  What I’m really after is the sand with the extra filtration properties.  I know that kind is heavier and won’t wash away so fast.  Also, I’ve noticed a lot of very small particulate matter floating by and it’s very disturbing.  Of course, the Xanax helps, but the sand is what I’m most comfortable with.  Maybe it’s time for heroin.

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