Highlights of Robs Week

Sunday: Boss harassed by ex-wife #3 takes out anger on employee Rob, inventing pretexts to berate his work. Takes all of Rob's will-power to not snarl at employer.

Monday: Rob calls cousin, who has delivered healthy baby girl. Congratulations! he says, and finds that he means it. Drizzly day. Cold air makes Rob's knee's hurt. Body aches. Rob feels old, and thinks about dying alone.

Tuesday: Test. Rob does poorly, and knows so little of the material that he dozes off out of boredom and indifference mid-exam.

Wednesday: Rob decides to be unprepared for class. Professor interrogates Rob for 40+ minutes, tears Rob a new asshole. It is clear that Rob does not know the material although does manage to score cheap laughs from fellow students with the answer "a holographic will is a property transfer device in which the print appears 3 dimensional to the viewer." (this is pure fabrication, a holographic will is a will that is handwritten) Beads of sweat on forehead afterwards. Unpleasant feelings.

Thursday: Rob takes day off, skipping work, skipping class, choosing to lay in bed for 12 hours. Squawking from mother concerning laziness. Fetal position, Rob thinks about: his moral corruption, his character flaws, and pipe dreams of opening up a donut shop as an alternative career.

Friday: Rob skips class, gets drunk at 3pm. Goes to bar with two friends around 10ish, hits on three girls, rejected by three girls. Stumbles home and into bed 2am.

Saturday: Through the haze of a hangover, Rob see's blind mother, who casts her shattered gaze in son's direction, oblivious to the inner workings of her son's life, tells Rob that she is proud of him, that he has grown to be a very handsome young man.

Altogether a good week.

We became friends in kindergarten when I approached him one day, seeing that he had micromachines. (very small toy cars, popular at the time) I had a lamborghini that I traded for his ferari. We were one of the few asian kids at the school so we agreed to stick to together everytime one of us got picked on. Initially he was the smaller guy, so I did the heavy lifting when the racist comments were made. By the time we were in sixth grade, he was pretty big, and he did more than his fair share.

My other friend Gabe I met in 5th grade. He was quiet and studious and he was probably the worst influence on Paul because even though he was quiet, he was crazy too but he liked to do it vicariously through Paul. Paul was a master (because he was bad at it) at reading negativity in other people's statements, and he had roid rage on top of that. He was hearing impaired when it came to sarcasm, and this would inevitably lead to blows. Someone would say something and Paul would get mad, and the right thing to do would be to restrain Paul and patiently explain the other person's remark. For instance: "Paul, it's joke, it's a line from a movie."

Gabe on the other hand would provoke the other person or egg on Paul (rather than try to mitigate the conflict) so the other guy had no choice but to retaliate. This was always stupid though because Paul was on steroid's and even though he didn't look big, he could, if I remember correctly, bench 300 pounds when he weighed 200. So he kicked the shit out of them, and nobody said anything because snitching was looked down upon.

Still Gabe was the first one to get a car, a piece of shit Kia Sephia, which he was proud of (korean pride) but we talked shit about it all the same saying that it was what migrant workers rode around in. (The inside joke during 10th grade was to ask him to borrow a farming implement: "Gabe, would you happen to have a rake on you?")

Paul's family was rich, though god knows why. I would see his dad sit around McDonalds all day a few blocks away from our school. He had long hair and would focus his irate stare at people passing by. (Back then I thought he was a gangster, but now I realize I think all old korean men are gangsters.) Despite the money, they wouldn't buy Paul a car, even though his little brother had one because he was constantly getting into trouble and he couldn't be trusted.

Paul started to sell weed in 10th grade. This was around the time that we started to drift apart.  I was in all the honors classes and he was in the regular classes, and he didn't even bother to show up for those most of the time. Also, he got really paranoid when we smoked out, so I stopped inviting him over, so I didn't really see him after school that much either. The two things that he always rambled on about was his fear of the pen and his fear of getting robbed. These fears had merit because he was eventually robbed twice, and went to jail for possession with intent to distribute and possession of a firearm. (two months after his 18th birthday, bad luck)

I visited Gabe once during my summer vacation, and I could tell that Gabe had stopped sending letters and calling Paul. The way he spoke about him also gave away a sense of anger. I learned later that right before Paul left, he had fucked Eunjoo, Gabe's girlfriend. Gabe was in korea at the time, so he wasn't able to be at Paul's going-away party. Eunjoo had been all over Paul since 8th grade, and I guess since he was going to be gone for a while, Paul decided to give it a shot.

Anyway, word get back to Gabe and he's pissed of course. Gabe breaks up with Eunjoo, and dates this girl who is not the sharpest tool in the shed. Gabe is holding some of Paul's "supply" while he's gone, but it's wrapped up in a napkin. Paul had been promising to pick it up for two or three months, but because of the trial, he kept procrastinating. Anyway, they were in a napkin, and Gabe's new GF throws it away thinking its trash. Paul's friend comes over to pick it up, so that he can sell it, but finds that Gabe no longer has it and they get into a scuffle.

Now Gabe starts getting a lot of letters from Paul, all of them very angry. Gabe offers to pay 400 bucks for it, but it was worth like 1200 or something. Paul is also very close to his mom, who is really really hot but also crazy. She actually goes over to Gabe's house and starts yelling at him for being the cause of Paul's incarceration. Gabe calls her a bitch which gets back to Paul who is even more mad.

Paul gets out in a year, which surprises everyone. A lot of guys think he snitched because this was really really fast. So this is when I start catching up with Paul, who I haven't talked to in year, only heard about through Jae, because Paul is broke and he's hitting up everyone for money and drugs. Paul immediately goes to Gabe's house, where they proceed to beat the shit out of one another. (Gabe had to get stitches) Afterwards, they made up over a bottle of vanilla soju, and Paul promises to let Gabe fuck the next three girls he dates. This satisfies Gabe and they are friends again.

This last part I hear straight from Paul because he drives down to San Diego and crashes at my place for a couple of weeks, which pisses off my mom royally and makes it impossible for me to sleep because he's always bringing skanky chicks over and large black guys wearing thick gortex jackets even though its fucking 80 degrees outside. He also smokes all my supply, borrows money, is on the computer playing video games when I need to do work, and is overall a pain in my ass. He finally leaves, and goes back to LA because SD is too "boring" for him, which annoys me, because I made an effort to get him settled in and I realize too late that he just wanted free rent and weed so he can fuck around and it wasn't to get legit.

Growing up, my mom liked to lecture me. My hair (too short, I look like a criminal) my girlfriends (impure, not suitable mothers) my work (I could do so much better) and my academics. (I don't study enough).

If I had to use one word to describe her, it would be "tirade." Growing up, she had a lengthy monlogue for every occasion. This was rarely pleasant after the age of 10, when I began to notice the repetitions and the thematic homogeneity. (family, school, thrift) Our communications were always rather one sided: she talked, I listened.

Despite the rants, she was always my hero. She always pounced on problems that were thrown in our direction. "Evicted? Let's go to California!" "Dad drunk and violent again? Let's call the police!" Her reflexes were impeccable. Her movements? Like a ninja: silent, sleek, and with purpose. Danger lost its sharp edges because I had a warrior in my family.

Best of all, she always knew what I wanted to eat. Sometimes before I even knew.

People tell me I take after her. We look alike. Our personalities are similar. Quiet. Her life revolves around staying busy around the house. In fact, it's only been recently that I've seen her not working constantly. She is unhappy. I don't think idleness suits her. I tell her she should go out more, that she should try to make more friends.

A few years ago, she lost her sight. One night she went to bed, and the next morning it was gone. The doctor's said it was macular degeneration. Two blank transluscent holes in the center of her vision. They don't know what causes it. Random. An act of God. After multiple painful surgeries, she has managed to recover a little bit of it.

She wasn't able to drive around anymore. She moved in with me, so that it would be easier for her to get around. When we came to San Diego, I made sure to find an apartment that was close to the supermarket so that she could walk there when I wasn't around to drive her. She still cooks for me, but I hear her break dishes occasionally. She'll burn herself when she's cooking with oil. I've seen her cut her hand slicing vegetables multiple times, an event that still seems surreal to me. (Japanese assassins do not make mistakes when slicing carrots)

I try to tell her to relax, to avoid doing all these things, that they are not necessary, but I think this just makes her depressed. I suppose without work, she doesn't have anything to be proud of. (my brother and I are disappointing)

I've stopped listening to her when she talks. It gets tedious hearing the same old stories, the same old lectures. Slowly she is beginning to realize it, and the lectures have begun to get shorter, less frequent. I haven't heard one in a few weeks now, although there's plenty that she could have come up with. (weekend, alcohol, vomit on carpet... sorry mom)

The other day, my mother and I were at the dinner table and I told her some of the gossip at my school. The conversation turned towards marriage and children, and I joked about two girls that I've been intimate with, and the possibility of them both moving in with us. I braced myself for a lecture on "Abstinence until Marriage," and planned some funny, witty remarks in response. But she didn't. She just stared at me in a disapproving way, and went back to eating, silent.

I work at a law office. I'm a clerk. On my resume, it says that my duties consist of client counselling and interviewing. It also indicates that I am familiar with putting together basic motions relating to criminal defense and injunctions and research.

In reality, work consists of slapping together a bunch of words, impenetrable legalese on a page, (that mostly has been pre-constructed anyway) done so many times that I don't even have to think too much about it. I also play solitaire on the computer. This is the uninteresting part.

The interesting part is when I get to be an asshole. Mostly this occurs over the phone, but occasionally when we get visitors to the office, I get to be an asshole to the persons face. Usually this is some secretary of the opposing counsel who is being difficult, or getting self-righteous when I know that it is my boss who is being difficult, and defending his actions as being perfectly reasonable. I recently got a raise because my boss finds me funny when I do this, because I manage to be professional and an asshole at the same time. I think I am also good at the research thing.

At first it was fun in a sadistic sort of way. It was nice to be rewarded and noticed for being good at something, not a common experience for me.

This is no longer the case because I come home and feel like a gigantic piece of shit. It does not help that I has a premonition that this may be what I will be doing even more regularly some time in the not so far off future when I actually become a lawyer rather than an underpaid pseudo-attorney.

Yesterday, a client came in demanding why we had not taken her mother's deposition yet. (her mother was sitting in the county jail for possession with intent to distribute, and was not enjoying herself there) I implied that her failure to make payments for the investigation done by a private investigator was causing the delay. (I believe that there is some ethical violation on my boss' part for telling me to say this, but hey, he's the boss)

She started bawling right there in the office. I escorted her out. This was around 3pm in the afternoon. I was not in the best state of mind for the rest of that day.

My girlfriend has not called for a week. She thinks I'm not doing a good job of not being an asshole outside the office.

I got home, poured myself a drink, smoked a cigarette on the balcony, and thought of my mom.

I try to read but opening it up and seeing the printed words fills me with dread. Before I go to bed, I think that another day has passed where something has been postponed. I fall asleep, not really tired, but it is all nicely facilitated by the boredom that I experience just laying there, not thinking of anything.