I wrote this on Monday.
HANOI — I do the same things each week, over and over, like I live in a GIF. The weekends are magical because I have sex with everybody. The weekends are worth all manner of misery. They are worth Mondays, which is when the GIF resets and I smash back down to Earth for one more ride around the nightmare circuit.
It is Monday and god damn it’s 2 pm. I always wake up at 2 pm. It will be one of those days where I will spend my waking hours cutting against the grain of the universe. The rain is here, as if to confirm my foreboding feeling, as if to say “No, you’re not getting off easy today.” The typhoons are back and will be here until September. I will need to drive my motorcycle in the rain until September.
God damn, I have to hang up my laundry and I forgot my brush my teeth last night and I’m out of cereal too.
I go online and everything sucks. The news is boring – something about Turkey. I have Facebook messages to read, but no messages from pretty young girls, which makes you wonder what the fuck the point of Facebook is. All the girls from this weekend are playing it cool. Pretty young girls ruin everything. They devalue all messages that are not from them.
What else? My YouTube traffic has collapsed. My first book is out and the publisher just mailed me a stack of eight copies. They spelled my name wrong on the copyright page, which is an irony thoroughly befitting of my awkward existence.
I want people to know I wrote a book but I don’t want them to actually read it. Having a book out feels like you’ve just laid your balls on a table and everyone is walking by with a mallet. What if they judge me?People, just imagine that it’s amazing and let’s have that be the end of it. “Fred is a genius” is all you should think.
Writing and YouTube pay nothing but dopamine and legitimacy. I can’t pay the rent with legitimacy. I remember having more money than this. It was awesome. I’m getting tired of being legitimate and having no money.
I have another message – seems that I might get sued by the publisher due to a clusterfuck with the photo releases. Sue me, see what you get. My budget is on life support. I make $200 a week from my job, which is correcting Vietnamese people’s pronunciation mistakes. Said mistakes are legion. Vietnamese people pronounce “difficult” as “difficunt.” It’s less hilarious after the thousandth time. One girl kept saying “delicious friend” in class yesterday. “I love my delicious friend,” she kept saying. “When I go home, I turn on my delicious friend.” It took me five minutes of linguistic detective work to realize she was trying to say “electric fan.”
You can see that this is a job that will slowly corrode your mind. In exchange for each week of this spiral-eyed torture I am given $200. I am poor. All my pants have holes in them. I am pretty much 30 years old, and still poor. I make no money because salary negotiations with my boss must be handled in Vietnamese, and I don’t speak any Vietnamese. I can’t count past seven in Vietnamese. I have been here an entire year.
Suffice it to say that during the week everything sucks, and life is quite difficunt.