Doggy Paddle

Chapter One

I looked at the available jobs in an area where I could afford a house. Temp work driving a truck (experience needed), $17.50 for a graduate accountant and 3 positions for prison guards (training provided). Sounds like a fun town.

My room is small cluster-fuck, betraying my lack of conscientiousness. It barely fits my bed, a television and an exercise bike. The house is brick, built under power-lines, by someone who never intended on living in it. My flatmate is is ginger, ugly and too shy to ever communicate her feelings. I pay the rent, and she doesn't complain, so I suppose I'm not bothering her too much.

I'm depressed, but I'm aware why. You should be depressed in a place like this.

For a while I revolted against my work, they paid me too little for the effort I gave them; but they gave me a pay rise, so I had nothing to complain about.

I am warm, I am well fed, I have women who care for me and I am in good health.

I have eaten all the junk food that could give me joy, I have fucked until boredom and I've traveled as far as I wanted. It all blurs and becomes tiresome.

What I really want is self control. Give me power over my own mind. I spend my days watching my own behavior in torment. I'm no longer in the drivers seat.

I'm crawling on rock bottom and I'm sick of it.

There's one thing I'm going to do today, that I have the energy for, that I can achieve.

I'm going to tidy my room.