So, House Arrest.
I've gone on about it before, and how much it !@#$ing sucks. I mean, don't get me !@#$ing wrong, I'd much rather be here in my own bed, with my boyfriend, my music, (and, yes, my cat) than sitting in some super-slam, somewhere, along with all the !@#$ers I've locked up.
I mean, I have been !@#$ing jailed, before. It's usually some !@#$ing misunderstanding that gets cleared up well before I actually have to !@#$ing break out, or something. Nothing terrible. !@#$, by the time the government would !@#$ing call up and tell them to let me the !@#$ out they were just about ready to let me go, anyway, after what usually happened when they got my !@#$ pants off for the intake shower.
Yeah, you !@#$ing figured it'd be something like that, wouldn't you? You're getting to know me too !@#$ing well, son.
(Maybe we should do something about that...)
But no, son. I can live with being !@#$ing stuck here. I can live with having to watch the !@#$ world go apart when I'm not at the wheel. I can even !@#$ing handle !@#$ty post-Christmas TV with limited options due to the !@#$ channel package they arranged for this dump.
No, it's this not drinking thing that's really !@#$ing getting to me.
Oh, sure. They !@#$ing let me drink. They're still sending up my hooch when I !@#$ing require it, along with the daily food drop. Whiskey, beer, vodka, beer, port, beer, wine, beer, beer, beer...
But I'm not !@#$ing being allowed as much as I used to be. And that is a serious !@#$ problem.
You see, son, I'm used to drinking somewhere around twice my !@#$ body weight in alcohol every !@#$ day. And if you think that sounds extremely !@#$ing excessive, well, you'd be !@#$ing right. But I have what can be called a genuine medical excuse, as opposed to that wimpy rewrite of a certain metal-clad superhero by my least favorite homophobic writer.
It's this !@#$ alien peeper in my noggin, son. The Chandra Eye tells me everything that's going on around me, and a whole lot of that !@#$'s nothing I need to know. So I need to be pretty !@#$ing boozed up to be able to handle what this of mine's telling me. Otherwise I get knocked off my !@#$ !@#$ and onto the floor.
And I gotta !@#$ing tell you, son, I've been sitting on the ground a !@#$ of a lot, lately.
Fortunately, there are other things that can be done. I've got all kinds of interesting herbal remedies running around this place. The Martians !@#$ing owe me big-time, so they've got me done up on enough of their so-called cocaine to kill one of their living mountains. And while it's not !@#$ing dulling me, the way the booze does, it is getting my brain working fast enough to handle everything I'm seeing.
And do you know what it's !@#$ing showing me? The !@#$ing deleted scenes reel.
Yeah. You remember me talking about alternate timelines and all that crazy !@#$? Well, it turns out that, if you're !@#$ing able to ride some of what this weird !@#$ alien thing in my head's got to tell me, then it's possible to see how some past choices might have !@#$ing panned out, if I'd zigged instead of zagged, said "no" instead of "yes," !@#$ed this one instead of that one. You get the !@#$ing idea.
Well, just my luck I can't !@#$ing see these alternatives before I make my !@#$ choices. All I can do is make the best !@#$ choice I can, and every so often I get a quick !@#$ glimpse of what would have happened otherwise, but never with a whole !@#$ lot of preamble.
So I'll just be sitting there, !@#$ing some ladyboy in the mouth from across the !@#$ room, and I'll have a sudden flash of being shot to !@#$ing pieces by Superscience Commies from the other !@#$ side of the Moon, and I'll flip the !@#$ out and shoot the room up around my date, only to remember that almost happened back in !@#$ing 1960-whatever, and obviously I made the right choice to not !@#$ing open the airlock, and just press the red button and shove them the !@#$ out of the ship, now didn't I?
(Doesn't do the poor ladyboy any good, but hey, I always !@#$ing tip well if firearms get inadvertently involved.)
So imagine this, son. I'm sitting here, staring at the wall, and all these decisions I !@#$ing made, five, ten, twenty or more years ago are all coming back to !@#$ing haunt me, one after the other. And for once, I can actually !@#$ing see them coming, and know what the !@#$ they were from.
Now how the !@#$ do you like that?
It's not like I can !@#$ing steer this boat, of course. That would just be the bees knees, as they used to !@#$ing say. But I can at least make some sense of them, now. Maybe even follow one option into another, and a little further out...
What's it like? Well, !@#$, son, don't you ever wonder what would have happened if you'd !@#$ing asked that person out, back in !@#$ing high school? Or gone to that party your parents told you they'd !@#$ing kill you if they found out you went? Or not went to it, thus avoiding wondering if they !@#$ing knew you went and just kept !@#$ing quiet all those !@#$ years?
Yeah. Really weird.
So I've seen all kinds of things, tonight. I've seen me not agreeing to !@#$ing go to Camp Rogers, and just spending the war in some prison, somewhere, so I wouldn't !@#$ing talk to anyone. I've seen me not kill Hitler, that night, and not have to !@#$ing deal with ABWEHR all these !@#$ years. I've seen me not develop that weird hate-love relationship with the Dragon, and seen myself finally just snap his !@#$ing neck in Hong Kong in 1997, during the handover.
Yeah. That's a lot to process, son. A !@#$ of a lot. I'm finding I'm having to just shrug and let a lot of it !@#$ing go, so I don't go !@#$ing crazy with regret or anger or self-loathing or something.
But one thing that keeps coming back? One !@#$ing thing I can't just sort of shrug off?
One decision I really would give !@#$ing anything to do over?
A little over two months ago, I had someone's life in my hands, and instead of telling someone who needed to know about it, I kept it quiet because I was !@#$ing afraid he'd !@#$ up, go soft, and ruin the whole !@#$ thing for me.
I was afraid that when it came to his own !@#$ family, he'd choke and call off the !@#$ war.
And I should have known better. I should have !@#$ing known!
Well, truth is, it didn't matter. Either way, we didn't get to the Ice Palace in time. My team was too late, either way.
But in this other reality, where I actually did !@#$ing confide in the President, he only hesitated a half second before telling me to get a team and get it going. He told me he trusted me to !@#$ing deal with it.
And when I had to tell him we failed? Yeah, he broke. And I don't !@#$ing blame him. But he had the family that remained to lift him up, and he got through it.
Well, I can't see more than two more steps down the !@#$ing line from there. So I have no idea if he would have been complicit in my house arrest. I have no idea if he'd be defending me or leaving me out to !@#$ing dry. I don't know for certain.
All I know is that, when some of the !@#$ started to come down our way, he looked at me like he trusted me to make the right decision, in spite of everything.
And that says a !@#$ of a lot to me.
So yeah. My boyfriend's gone to bed, and told me to come when I can't stand to watch anymore. My cat's !@#$ing drunk and useless, as always. And all I've got are scenes from a film that went off-track, about two and a half months ago.
Or maybe longer than that.
Is love enough, son? Is pain all we have when the curtain comes !@#$ing down?
Because I'd give my life for this world, you understand. A million times over. You know that. You know that.
But what if it's not enough to be willing to die? What if I have to be able to do the right thing, for once?
And how will I know what it is when I see it?
You better go, son. I think that !@#$ing deleted scene's coming back around, and this time I might just shoot it away.
And if I hit some of those !@#$ing video cameras, outside, hoping to catch me in the nude, again, then all the !@#$ing better.
Nite nite, now.
(SPYGOD is listening to The Underwater Boys (Shriekback) and having not nearly enough booze )