Sunday November 11 2012


Waking up at 11:40 a.m.

Strawberry Toaster Pastries. Orange Juice.

All day shift at China Wok.

Grilled Cheese with Tomato and Hummus. Salt n Vinegar Chips with Avocado. Honey Green Tea.

It’s a steady Freddy day for Chinese food and the tips are generous.


Trapped in a network frenzy of texting and messaging between friends, some newly acquired female friends. All the while I’m driving around delivering, doing my job, yet I stay connected.

Here’s one of those conversations, but with Rachel, whom isn’t newly acquired whatsoever...

Rachel: “Watching miley cyrus movie high. Hilarious. What is my life.”

Me: “your life is a dream full of fantastical ideals leading you to only one place in the end: death.”

Rachel: “I changed my mind Robert. I wanto live.”

Me: “I know. we all do. but you’re still going to die eventually. the question isn’t even how soon. but how much life will you live before it happens. trust me. you’re living a lot of life right now Rachel. so don’t worry.”

Rachel: “Promise?”

Me: “id bet my life on it.”

Fried Shrimp with Broccoli, Carrots, Onions, and Rice in Garlic Sauce.

Leslie shows up at the last bit of my work shift and rides around. Entertaining ourselves in discussion.

Me: “I used to cry a lot when I was a baby. My mom used to tell me, Yeah we used to have to sit in the car before we go into a store just to prepare you to leave the car so you wouldn’t cry inside the store. I hated change. I guess that’s what it was.”


Talking about the struggling artist who uses their personal turmoil and insecurities as fuel for the art they create.

Leslie: “Like, you self perpetuate your convenience. Like, if you’re not this traumatized individual then what do you have to offer creatively? There’s a lot of people that think that. But I know plenty of well-adjusted people that can make really awesome art.”

Off work and back home.

Sipping on Coffee and snacking on Biscoff Cookies. 

While settling down and doing some writing I receive a text. It’s not any ordinary text but one that’s probably typical of ex-girlfriend behavior, especially coming from Margot.

Will you have drunk sex with me?

I have to read it two or three more times. I already feel the subtle rush of blood flow down below in eagerness. How lovely that would have sex right now. I can’t resist this. It’s too heavy. I grab Kevin’s bike and ride over there.


In her bedroom. She’s not too heavily intoxicated but enough to be just a tad bit moody. The sexual dance begins – she provides light dirty talk to heighten the moments – this feels wonderfully revitalizing. Afterwards, she zips straight off to sleep as she usually has the ability to do in a matter of two minutes flat. I wonder to myself what caused the sudden sex invitation tonight. Obviously, she was out drinking, nothing out of the ordinary. I keep hearing her phone beep just loud enough to jolt my thoughts. Somebody’s texting her. I pick it up to turn down the volume and notice an unsaved number on the screen. After sliding the screen lock I see it’s from some random male attempting to hook up with her. Reading more of the conversation it looks like she’s also instigating it. And then there’s another conversation with a different unsaved number involving much of the same topics except in this one she’s shut down. I lie there naked in her bed feeling conflicted. Just knowing the fact that by any other turn of events another eager penis would be lying in this same spot makes me queasy. This whole nightlife world she lives in is so unappealing to me. All these stupid boys barking up her tree just trying to make a score and she eats it all up. Is she really this slutty? I mean she already told me a while back that she slept with at least four other guys after we broke up. I’m not upset about it cause I’ve had my share of girls post-breakup. But this is so close together, her reaching out to me after not getting what she wants. I mean I guess I shouldn’t be ungrateful. The sex was good despite her mild drunken state. I won tonight. But I don’t feel good. I feel empty. I feel used. I quietly get up and leave.

Back home.

A bowl of Cheerios with Brown Sugar and Milk.

It’s funny to read last year’s entry on this day. Something of the opposite happened with Margot:

The blog is supposed to be up and running again. This whole past year people have been in the dark on what’s been going on in my life. And so I will start posting last year’s entries day by day. Anthony composed a little poem that serves as a preface. Maybe I’ll use this when the book gets published...

This is your life
with the moods shifting over the landscape
confusion constantly clogging
and all that restless desperation melting into a kind of ember
glazing itself atop the generational mystery known as day to day life
played out here on this little planet known as America

This is that drive home in the backseat after the party
head against the window dreaming of infinity

This is that walk with your best friend when you couldn’t find a single word to say
this is all those letters never written
calls never returned
colors never known

the rush to the head
the lazy tuesday
the highway’s curve

the lost sunset found in the space between heartbeats
the warm kiss
the whiskey and the rain

This is all the songs in the attic
and the frequencies in the basement

chemicals pulsing in the blood stream
sex in the parking lot
faded faces and burning scars

this is dreaming and dancing at the same time
in a reverb heaven of the mind

This is Robert’s Blog

This is your Life

- Tony Hoyer”

Sleep at 4:30 a.m.

[i] asdfbmp. Kim Asendorf.

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