Fool Me 3 Times?

Pendulum clock

I don’t know whether to start typing or sit around and wait for something else to happen. I woke up earlier to Grace Jones playing. No big deal, I had checked my tablet before I went to bed surprised I didn’t download Blind Melon last week… Not the point.

What is the fucking point? I’m not running around looking for this shit. I thought it would stop last week after I found the stupid audio. It was just getting started.

It’s friggin’ M===! Numbers are her thing. She used bug the shit out of me. Her fucking numbers were 222, not 333. Am I telling this story backwards?

Okay, begin at the beginning? Last night I we were talking and she said she had to go to the post office and grocery store this morning. But early, which is strange cause she is never up early enough to be somewhere at 8? I thought she was going to ask me for coffee. She didn’t and I said, what the fuck? I’ll ask her. Blah blah whatever,

She said, I have to do a few things before I pick you up. I said, don’t change your plans for me. I’m not changing my plans, I’m adding to them. You were always good with numbers. 333.

I know we have an internal clock, but I was lying there thinking it was my usual 5am, the store will open soon. Lying there listening to the music. I know the store isn’t open yet. I want some fucking coffee, it’s gotta be close. I roll up on my elbow, before I hit the button on my tablet, I had a quick thought, Ha ha, watch it be… “3:32” I try to text as fast as possible, before the minute changes but not fast enough, 333.

I went to the bathroom and came back, see, she didn’t answer, I typed, “I’m not playing”. Oh shit! My tablet has a glitch. I’m texting my mom! I copied and pasted and sent it to M—-. Like a dumbass, I sent my mom another saying sorry, a friend and I have a weird thing with the number 3. I haven’t even told my mom about M===, texting me out of the blue, 30 seconds after I texted my mom asking if she heard of Jung while I was hotfooting it down the sidewalk to get home to read, Jung. I still haven’t had a chance to read him and I’m not sure it’s important.

Is this even important? I’m walking around thinking big deal I used to look at the clock all the time and laugh how many 4:20 but how many times to I look at the clock and it’s not 4:20? I’m not a 420 guy. Still pacing around back into the bedroom. I know I went overboard with the right song at the right time. Of course, I downloaded them because I like them and they mean something to me. Grace Jones doesn’t mean anything to me except my crazy fantasy girl from Portsmouth last week. I’m not even typing the lyrics to the song that was playing! This is fucked up!

Make some coffee, turn on the computer to start typing, of course, it’s 4:20. Big deal, right? None of these numbers mean anything to me. I’m not interested in numerology. 2013, I had an elaborate mathematical formula psychosis, telling me how many pills to take and a timetable scheduled to take them when I tried to suicide. But the numbers were all 7’s and 4’s and 9’s and they don’t mean anything to me now. But this isn’t psychosis. This is coincidence.

Okay, now I’m either convincing my mom I’m not crazy or I am totally off my rocker. I”m not quite sure which.

My mom doesn’t think I’m so crazy but now I do. She sent me a link to a website saying seeing 333 everywhere means angels are looking out for you. Some shit about times of “helplessness.”

I’m trying not to think about all the poems I wrote that have the phrase, “clocks ticking.”

Good grammar is the difference between “feeling you’re nuts and feeling your nuts.”

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