fuckin A, i've been putting this off for over a week and realize now that i can sit here all night if i wanted to. it's twenty after nine, i've still got time. i'll let out as much as will come without being forced; a verbal beershit of sorts, pardon my french. i planned on making it short, sweet, and concise, but the first song that played on the cd i just popped in blurred my monitor a little and made me admit i have more to say than i'd like to cut out. it's the song that reminded me of how it ended several years ago now. i understand how pathetic it is that i can no longer even lie to myself and say "a few years ago" anymore; no, it's moved into the "several" range, and i still have the occasional nightmare. the fact that i'm currently working so close to where she lives doesn't help any. the ride to and from work every morning reminds me of braving the snow in that '87 monte carlo at one in the morning back when we were together, and how worth it was to risk an accident if it meant being able to spend time with the girl i thought was gonna be it. how naive of me to think i could have lucked out so early in the game. i was thinking today how odd it is how people come and go in our lives so easily. more specifically, how unfair it is that there's usually one poor bastard in every scenario that winds up being affected by the parting for much longer than the other. not that either party ever gets away totally unscathed; i know we all do our share of hurting, but the worst abandonment issues usually only fall on the shittier end of the stick. you stop and think, does that person even think about me at all anymore? do certain road signs, certain ice cream flavors, certain expletives remind them of me like similar haunting tokens remind me of them? something, anything, even if it's not the best memory. i just don't want to be forgotten entirely. nobody does, no matter what they say. even if i only served as a lesson in what you don't want, don't let me fall into the "total waste of time" category, right next to polishing the brass on the titanic.
fuck this, i need a bogey before i type anything else.
fuck that, my bogey break was cut short by the fact that the bastard child of Mothra and Nessie decided to flock to the light on my stoop. i just said "stoop." i don't live in the city, what the fuck?
but the city is definitely an interesting place to visit once in awhile. my best friend (i'm weening myself off of the "roommate" tag since he's moving out this week) went down there the weekend before last to visit our friends in manhattan and brooklyn and to go to the on the might of princes reunion concert. it was the last of a series of three shows, and quite impressive since they hadn't played together in almost five years. it always bugged the shit out of me that i got into them after they had broken up and never got to see them. their songs got me through a lot of nonsense and fueled a lot of drunken living room mosh pits just after midnight. true, most people's taste in music changes over time, but i'll never deny their masterful use of song dynamics, their brutally sincere lyrics, or the passion they played with that oozed right from home stereo speakers as much as it did from their amps on the stages they played for far too short a time. that's why i know i'll never regret the "where you are and where you want to be" tattoo i got in their honor. i also found out, after i had already gotten it, that the lead singer has an anchor tattoo in the same place that i have mine, the back of the right tricep. needless to say i peed a little. anyway, the weekend went exceptionally well and the hammered laughs filled the night like the tired faces that filled the subway trains that brought us from destination to destination. my buddy and i got to meet the singer of the band as we all smoked cigarettes outside before their last set ever. we were apprehensive about approaching guys from the band at first because we didn't want to come off as superlame groupies, but once we got a few beers and gin-and-tonics in us we said fuck it. it wound up paying off in spades, as we came to find out that our idols are down to earth as hell and incredibly grateful to be appreciated as much as they are, especially for such a small band. the singer was gracious and humble and "forced" us to give him a hug before he had to throw his butt down and get back into the venue. even invited us to share some drinks later on. my friend and i were on cloud nine from there on in, and the band's set did not disappoint at all. i bought a beer for the singer as they finished their first song since his was painfully empty. getting to the front of the crowd to deliver it wasn't all that difficult, since i was drunk, determined, and easily seventy pounds heavier than most of anemic little hipsters present. he was much obliged for the beverage. i repeated the act of alcoholic chivalry by fulfilling his request later on in the set, once again working my way right to the front where i was close enough to see the sweat dripping off the band members' faces and tears coming during a speech given about how lucky they are to have been a part of our lives in some way. not everything was so pussified while they played, though. there was some serious physical activity breaking out during the heavier parts of their songs and i had to save a few crowd surfers from busting their asses since twig-armed scenesters aren't exactly great at supporting things heavier than their buddy holly glasses. i hoisted half a dozen kids up onto the stage during the singalong parts and opted to hang back to prevent anyone from falling off during the parts that i knew would lead to people flying back off the stage. one of said parts during the second to last song worked out to my advantage, however, because i was able to fight my way between a few limbs to grab the set list that was typed to the floor next to the mic stand. i shoved it in my back pocket, it's on the wall in my room above my bed now right next to the lyric sheet from one of their albums. the crowd rushed the stage during their last song and the cables connecting both guitars to both amps were disconnected in the chaos, but the bass and drums and fleeting ecstasy shared by the die-hard fans present were enough to satisfy me. i could say a lot more about that weekend, and was originally going to, but maybe i should leave it at that. what happens in brooklyn stays in manhattan, or however that saying goes.
last week was rather shitty other than that weekend. i feel like i don't have any time to do what i want because my weeks are always basically scheduled the same after work-- monday: dinner and laundry at mom's; tuesday: beer and band practice (used to be dinner with dad, but we don't talk anymore. awesome.); wednesday and thursday: stupid plumbing class, which is no longer preceded by four or five tallboys of bud since my apprental friend can't make it to my place in time anymore and i can't justify drinking alone while it's still light outside; friday and saturday: drunk, usually at rob's or a bar, also usually ending in mcgriddles; sunday: recovering from friday and saturday and prepping for the next week of hell. it sounds counterintuitive, but i somehow feel as though i have less time now that i'm single. maybe it's because i subconsciously find activities or substances to take up the time that used to be spent with her. what's really been pissing me off is that i can't seem to keep my eyes open long enough to read anything more complicated than some bukowski. i started the dickens novel with a bang one weekend, but have become increasingly lethargic since then and can't seem to fight my way through the damn thing. then again, i think it's been so hard to put good ol' hank down because i missed him so much. i had already read over fifteen of his books when i decided to pump the brakes for a bit so i don't tap my favorite writer's catalog dry prematurely. sure, his is the kind of stuff you can revisit later on, but i'd need more eventually. pretty soon i'd be trying to sell extraneous organs on the black market to try to outbid other rabid fans for rare and out of print books on e-bay. granted, i love reading different authors, but hank's the guy i can always go back to. i have to treat his books like a rich dessert that can only be indulged in small increments so i don't burn right through them; a story in bed before sleep or after a bad day when i need to be reminded i'm not totally crazy, a few poems on the shitter or while brushing my teeth, etc etc. i'll end the buk rant now or this will never end, and it's already been two hours since i sat down to write because i keep getting distracted.
fuck this whole pants thing, i'm strippin' down.
last week at band practice my co-guitarist started bitching about a nearby caterpillar's presence as we had a smoke break outside his garage. one of this guy's many cleverly annoying catch phrases is "what am i doing with my life?" i figured i'd throw it back at him on the insect's behalf by using that against him. i told him he's just jealous because the caterpillar knows exactly what he's doing with his life: he's turning into a goddamn butterfly. the four of us (five, if you count the butterfly) laughed uncomfortably for a few seconds, but then i think it dawned on us that maybe not knowing our fate is a little more frightening than we'd like to admit. my friend poured some of his beer out on the caterpillar to reiterate his frustration with it. i tossed my butt to the ground and extinguished it with a pivot of my sneaker(the cigarette, not the caterpillar). if you would have told me this is where i'd be and what i'd be doing six years ago i would have laughed at you. this is "where i am," but it's not quite "where i want(ed) to be," that's for damn sure. am i going to be this stupid searcher forever? is it gonna be a constant trapeze act from one failed relationship to the next? is everything i touch going to continue to turn to shit? will i ever become a competent plumber out of necessity, even though i don't want to? all that thinking made me envious of that lucky caterpillar too in a way, until i stumbled upon a stanza lawrence laid out for me well over half a decade ago:
Then, then comes the great moment of choice.
Oh, life is nothing if not choice.
And that which is choice alone matters.
it somehow managed to put things into perspective, to make me relieved to not have my life's course set in stone like a common creature. i may not know where i'm going, but if you have the time and patience i'll tell you everything about where i've been. i think i should finish telling about this past particular weekend tomorrow though if i really want to do it justice. good talk.
currently reading:
"the captain is out to lunch and the sailors have taken over the ship" by charles bukowski.
"great expectations" by charles dickens.
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