The Realist: Prelude

The Realist
Preface

         I guess I have acquired many names throughout my short, sweet life, but you can call me Cole.  I could tell you a long, drawn-out story about my life.  Really, I could.  I have always been a wordy person, quite capable of boring anyone, almost literally, to death with my semi-beautiful poetry and half-alive prose.  But that would not be very fair to the reader, now would it…eh, reader?
         Well, I haven’t yet decided whether or not I shall make this long and drawn out, but I will consider your needs and wants while I ponder.  For now, I think I shall just dive right in and get to the point, or at least the events surrounding it, sound fair?
         Firstly, my life is very bland to me.  I don’t go to school anymore as I should be doing.  I dropped it after having realized it was a big waste of time, and I stand by that explanation (though I cannot possibly stand by the decision in my endless boredom).  So what does this Cole do with himself, you ask?  Well, I work in a little coffee shop during the day, and I deceive and use people when evening rolls around.  Don’t I sound like a lovely person?
         Okay, let me get this part off of my chest now while the audience is fresh.  Please, just listen first…you can judge me all you want later. 
         I use women, mostly.  I guess you could call me a whore, but I dislike the word and I do not sell myself or anything like that.  You could call me a sex addict, and maybe I am, but that makes me sound like I should be in some clinic…and maybe I should.  You could call me a chauvinistic pig with a miserable, indestructible love for promiscuity and you would be half-right.  I don’t really love or even like what I do, but I can’t really stop myself either.  So you want to go ahead and go back to calling me a sex addict, right?  Well, like I said, you can save your opinions for later.  I have yet to make you truly hate me, and you just might if you’re patient enough.
         I love using women.  Remember, I don’t really love it, but at the time I love it.  God, it’s elating.  You should try it. 
         Stop.  No, you shouldn’t.  I take that last part back.          
         Do you see what I mean, yet?  I’m fucked up.  Don’t ask me what’s wrong with me.  I don’t know.  I was kind of hoping you could tell me.  And maybe you can, but in truth I really don’t want to hear about it, so shut up and listen. 
         I am on a lot of medication right now.  I always have been for almost as long as I can remember.  Then again, I can’t really remember too far back.  I have this nice little defense mechanism going on that I like to call “repression.”  The professionals call it that too, but what the hell do they know?  Shit, as far as I’m concerned. 
         A side note here: I used to be in college.  And when I was in college, I was studying psychology.  I was in love with it, really, but I plan on getting back to that part later.  So we’re moving on before I get distracted.
         Whenever shit happens to me, I forget it.  No, I don’t forget it, that’s the wrong word.  I lock it up where no one, including myself, can see it.  And I leave it there to rot inside of me until it’s gone or until it has developed into a full-fledged infection ready to consume every damned cell in my God-damned body. 
         Oh, hey, another side note: if you don’t like profanity, you should probably stop reading.  I like my “bad words.”  It pisses people off.  You don’t like it?  Well, go fuck yourself.  I don’t care.
         And that brings up another part of me that I’d like to confess right now before it strangles me in my chair.  I don’t care.  About anything.  I don’t care about anyone.  I just can’t afford to, not anymore.  And maybe that’s what my story is really about.  Because behind every insane, fucked up young man, there’s a love story gone terribly wrong or a faux pas committed that makes everyone laugh and feel one hundred times better about themselves, right?          
         Sorry to be cliché, but this is me. 
         My name is Cole Anther.