Sick

Does anyone know of a country that would take on a hack writer who does scientific things for a living. Three kids, a wife and six cats?

Asking for a friend.

He says he’s sick of idiot bullies who think it’s fun to mock victims of violence, think disabilities are funny, thinks soldiers who die in a war as “suckers and losers”, think that 200,000 dead is “nothing”, encourages racism and thinks he is king? So kingly, the King of Turds, he mocks the dead, like any king being kingly would.

He’s especially sickened by the people who prop up the wannabe king.

My friend says he’s sick of loving a country that doesn’t love him back, that thinks queers, trans and people with dark skin are appropriate targets for violence. He’s sick of the good old boys with their glass pack four-wheelers who drink beer while they drive their monstrosities that have a gun rack in the back window so they can shoot people they disagree with, ‘cos their fearless lard leader might laugh when they do. Such a cut up, the Cheeto King.

He tells me he wakes up in the middle of the night at times to check the news on his phone, hoping that this has been just a very bad dream that he hasn’t managed to wake up from. He gets depressed when the world hasn’t gone back to what he remembered four years ago.

I’m just asking for this friend.

I think he’s more depressed than he lets on, because he sometimes thinks it might not be so bad to walk into the middle of a busy highway, or to carve out words in his forearm. Maybe the pain would make the heartache go away. I tell him it won’t, and he responds, “So you say.”

“This is not my country,” he told me recently. “Ich bin ein Ausländer”. It must be true because he said it in something other than speaking American, even common English would have been better than what he spoke. In typical American fashion, I condemned his speaking something other than American.

He asks me why he brought three girls into this world so full of hate, a world that seems to thrive on hate, when they are all three beautiful loving girls who would give their hearts of gold away if it would save the world. He says the world doesn’t deserve them, and I secretly think he is right. But don’t tell anyone I said so.

This friend of mine (really, just a close friend, would I lie to you?) tells me he can’t sleep at night, not much anymore. He’d rather not eat most days, but does so no one calls him out on it. And, to cover his tracks, he overeats.

He tells me things taste like ash. Water. Food. Candy, when he allows himself any (he’s type 2 diabetic and watching his sugar). Though he’s an alcoholic, recovered for over 10 years, he thinks about picking it up again more often than he did four years ago.

Mostly, he tells me, he’s sick of being sick and there seems to be no cure for his agonies and ailments. He’s tired. He’s so damned tired of the world these days.

He just wants a rest.

My friend.

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