Today is Wednesday- tmj (tuesday night)

Grind, grind, grind. I woke up this morning and one of my back molars had a small piece chipped off. I was pretty stressed yesterday, but I had no idea it was this bad. The chip did not hurt, but I kept running my tongue over it all morning. My personality is defined by the feeling of the back of my teeth on the tip of my tongue. I was off all morning. I did not ride, I could barely think. I had a heaviness about me that the shower could not lighten.
My drive in was flooded with Smiths songs: 'Suffer little children', 'unhappy birthday', 'Please please please let me get what I want', 'Reel around the fountain', and 'Bigmouth'. I pulled over toward the parking lot before the bridge and kept going up the hill to the top. I put 'Bigmouth' on repeat, and quietly sat and smoked all of Sophia's leftover cigarettes- 7 or 8 of them. My chest felt constricted and tight and my throat had no lubrication. I kept spitting even though I had no moisture in my mouth. I was hot and sweaty, to the point that I had to take off my tie and shirt and let the cool air from the ocean quench whatever furnace was stoking in my diaphragm. I kept leaning forward onto my knees to see if I could get more oxygen into my head. I thought I should call 911, but I had no strength to pick up the Treo. I selfishly hoped that somebody would come across me, but did not care if they did so when I was alive or not.
The opening of Bigmouth sent me back many, many years to the warmth of radiated heat and orange light of my venetian apartment. Hours of tension between my roommate and me finally exploded into warm, smooth, patient breath-filled kissing. Her image filled my head with every 'bigmouth, lala la la' but the touch of her skin, the feel of her hair, her smell, the fond distant memory of a day spent cooking, smoking, chatting and screwing became as distorted as Morrisey's duet. I just can't find any substance- I can't remember anything of significance about this woman except the fact that she could never look me directly in the eye without a bit of nervousness. I can't remember what she tasted like or if she had ever said a kind word to me. And that saddens me. I only remember that I once spat in her face- pure, rejected bile coming from a hatred present before our simple relationship. I recall wanting to trap her with unprotected sex. She could sense this and was repulsed into moving to the other side of the country. When I caught up to her many, many years later, the image of her that I had preserved in my head for so many years was a perfect filter to my blindness on love. She still hated me, but she did me the service of listening to my petty whines. A sweat lodge. When we parted, and I walked out into the cool fall night, I realized that even though I had wasted 5 years of my life I was trapped with my future.
When I finally got bored of 'Bigmouth' I found track 1 of 'Going Away, ep' from Transona Five. Deftly re-robed, tied my tie and made the drive down into work. I did not realize it until I pulled into my parking spot and looked at myself in the rear view, but I had clearly been crying. It was a very odd sensation to see that I had cried but do not remember why. How does that even happen?
First thing is first. I went by that C's desk, but she wasn't there. Up to my office and I canceled all my meetings. I told my admin that I was working on reviews and strategy and that I needed the time. I called all my moles in the org, but none of them had sniffed any ill wind. Every so often, I would go by the C's desk until I finally realized that she was not in for the day. Probably with an attorney. I called her cell, but she did not pick up. I did not leave a message. I spent most of the day going to clublakers.com to see who the fuck that idiot Poopcock would trade for. Fucking moron. Why the fuck would you trade Bynum and Odom for Jermaine. It is kinda like G Dumbya and Iraq. You fucked up so please don't try to fix it. Just retire and let somebody who is more capable come in and clean up your mess. The site was down most of the day, some sort of debug error, but I kept going back to see anyway. I also did research on Mavic ES. Nice wheel. I went to craigslist and looked at all the lonely singles, and I checked my match.com account. Too many hits. When it was finally 3 I left for the day.
When I got home, I had forgotten that my cleaning lady came on Wednesdays and I startled her as much as she startled me. I did not see her car parked in front. I guess she gets dropped off.
She kept asking about 'Ms Sophia'.
I called my pizza guy to get more J, and spent the rest of the day waiting for him to arrive and for the cleaning lady to leave. I actually found some solace in my backyard. No smoking, no drinking. Just sitting quietly with nothing to do but to wait. When she left and the pizza guy came and left; I was left with my own lonely, lonely mistreated body. The first tiny bite of J put me into that heavy cloud of dry, anxious thought. I spent a few minutes trying to find my bearings on what my evening would look like, and then decided to clean my house- yes, it was just cleaned by my cleaning lady, but it needed to be cleaned again.
I cleaned the kitchen the downstairs bathrooms, the laundry room, the downstairs bedrooms, my office, the living room, the foyer, the family room, the dining room and then made my way upstairs.
In my room, folded neatly on my bed, like a pyramid, lay a jean skirt, a blue t-shirt, a brown sweater, one black bra and a white pair of panties which was delicately nested on top of the heap like a 'solitary cottage'. I could not take my eyes off of the panties and as I stared down my garden path toward their retreat, I noticed that embroidered flowers of purple peeked out from what would be the tuft. I made a generous offer, acknowledged my humility in the presence of beauty and graciously reached out and cupped the panties and lifted them toward my nose and mouth; as I drank them in, a deep heart-moan of tearless grief rumbled up from my soles and leaked out of my face- a distorted grimace that felt mask-like and shameful.
I could not close my mouth, so sharp air hit my newly chipped tooth and rang a nerve, felling me to my knees and causing me to finally relinquish my hold on feigned happiness. I wanted somebody to come by or call. I needed Dr. Kevorkian to pay a visit. The painful truth that I was alone made me sleepy, but my fear kept me far from slumber's path. After I finally fell asleep and then re-awoke, I put Sophia's clothes into what used to be her dresser.
I am not looking forward to sleeping alone tonight. I miss Sophia so very much, and I am now feeling the emptiness that I have created. My actions have stripped away the one thing that had potential to show me love, and now I am much worse off. I believe that I can make it through this trying time, but I do not want to put in too much effort. Probably an unrealistic desire.
Xioba