Sometimes I really do think about just hanging it up, giving in and admitting defeat. After the past few days, it’s an especially tempting prospect. Indulge me, if you will.
I had been out of town for five days and hadn’t seen the Girl. So on Thursday I went down to Marin and decided we would have a little party night. We met for a quick cocktail in San Rafael. I thought we were just going to have a few drinks and call it a fairly tame night. I was wrong.
We left for the City and a bar which shall remained unnamed. Pusher man showed up with the cocaine unexpectedly. Since I had already consumed three vodka-tonics I was feeling in the mood and I purchased a gram for me and the Girl. The night flowed pleasantly enough, though the Girl and I did get yelled at by her neighbor at about midnight for being loud and obnoxious when we returned. But, as I am always very polite in these moments, the situation resolved itself easily enough. All in all, it was a good night.
The next morning I woke up at seven, feeling bad but not terrible. I had an 8:30 appointment, so I had brought my suit with me. Fortunately, I had nothing else to do for the rest of the day, so after the appointment I went by the office for a moment, checked my email, played Mafia Wars on facebook, then went home for a nice nap. I didn’t awake until past three o’clock.
I thought I was going to stay in for the night, but very late I got an invitation from Rick and The Jew (a self bestowed moniker) to go see Inglorious Basterds at the AMC theaters in San Francisco. (Two thumbs up. The Jew, of course, loved it!) We caught the 10:45 showing after a couple of cocktails and a number of Billy-bat hits. It’s a long drive home for me from the city, so I didn’t get in until after 3:00 in the morning.
The next day also belonged to the Girl. Unexpectedly, she brought a gram of blow along with her, and we got revved up before going out on a long night of partying. Now, it was certainly a celebratory night, but nothing insane. We got in about two-thirty or three in the morning. It was my belief that everything was going to be fine.
She bailed out from my place at nine o’clock in the morning – I know this only because I asked her what time it was as she was leaving. My only plans for the day were to have dinner at my parent’s house at around 5 o’clock. No problem, right? Piece of cake. I went back to sleep.
I woke up at some time and began watching television. There is no electric clock in my bedroom – I can’t stand the glow of the digits at night – and my cell phone was in the living room. So after a couple episodes of Newhart I got up and went into the living room, thinking it was probably about 2:00 in the afternoon. To my shock and chagrin, the clock on the VCR read 6:15.
Now I don’t know about your family, but in mine missing dinner is taboo. I immediately called my mother, who answered the phone crying at the other end. She explained they had been calling all day and thought some terrible accident had befallen me. She then informed me my father was coming over to my place to see if I was still alive. It’s a forty minute drive from their house. I apologized profusely and hung up. A moment later the old man arrives and I apologized some more. I explained that I was sick, but the look on his face told me all I needed to know about how well that excuse went over.
I was awake for six hours then went straight back to bed. I slept in until ten o’clock today. Now I don’t know exactly what happened, but this was a pretty strange reaction to a mere few evenings out. Of course, it’s possible that the series of long nights might have led to some kind of over exhaustion. I even think it plausible that somebody might have slipped a “Ruffie” into a drink intended for the Girl and I drank it. Who knows? All I do know is that right about now I’m feeling like this is no way for a thirty-five year old man to be behaving.
And that’s just how I felt at thirty, at twenty five, even at twenty. “This is the time for change!” Jesus, sounds like an Obama campaign promise. (Let’s see how much “change” really takes place in Washington, God bless the president and his efforts.) Or do you remember the line from Half Baked when Dave Chappell's character promises his girlfriend he is going to quit smoking weed: "It's a new Thurgood Jenkins today!" But ultimately I know that this is it; not the result, mind you, not the exact events of the weekend or their consequences. But this is who and what I am. I can fight it. I can resist; and it is in the resistance where the nobility and meaning of the whole effort lies. But there is no denying that I am stuck with this malady for life. I just know it.
I had been out of town for five days and hadn’t seen the Girl. So on Thursday I went down to Marin and decided we would have a little party night. We met for a quick cocktail in San Rafael. I thought we were just going to have a few drinks and call it a fairly tame night. I was wrong.
We left for the City and a bar which shall remained unnamed. Pusher man showed up with the cocaine unexpectedly. Since I had already consumed three vodka-tonics I was feeling in the mood and I purchased a gram for me and the Girl. The night flowed pleasantly enough, though the Girl and I did get yelled at by her neighbor at about midnight for being loud and obnoxious when we returned. But, as I am always very polite in these moments, the situation resolved itself easily enough. All in all, it was a good night.
The next morning I woke up at seven, feeling bad but not terrible. I had an 8:30 appointment, so I had brought my suit with me. Fortunately, I had nothing else to do for the rest of the day, so after the appointment I went by the office for a moment, checked my email, played Mafia Wars on facebook, then went home for a nice nap. I didn’t awake until past three o’clock.
I thought I was going to stay in for the night, but very late I got an invitation from Rick and The Jew (a self bestowed moniker) to go see Inglorious Basterds at the AMC theaters in San Francisco. (Two thumbs up. The Jew, of course, loved it!) We caught the 10:45 showing after a couple of cocktails and a number of Billy-bat hits. It’s a long drive home for me from the city, so I didn’t get in until after 3:00 in the morning.
The next day also belonged to the Girl. Unexpectedly, she brought a gram of blow along with her, and we got revved up before going out on a long night of partying. Now, it was certainly a celebratory night, but nothing insane. We got in about two-thirty or three in the morning. It was my belief that everything was going to be fine.
She bailed out from my place at nine o’clock in the morning – I know this only because I asked her what time it was as she was leaving. My only plans for the day were to have dinner at my parent’s house at around 5 o’clock. No problem, right? Piece of cake. I went back to sleep.
I woke up at some time and began watching television. There is no electric clock in my bedroom – I can’t stand the glow of the digits at night – and my cell phone was in the living room. So after a couple episodes of Newhart I got up and went into the living room, thinking it was probably about 2:00 in the afternoon. To my shock and chagrin, the clock on the VCR read 6:15.
Now I don’t know about your family, but in mine missing dinner is taboo. I immediately called my mother, who answered the phone crying at the other end. She explained they had been calling all day and thought some terrible accident had befallen me. She then informed me my father was coming over to my place to see if I was still alive. It’s a forty minute drive from their house. I apologized profusely and hung up. A moment later the old man arrives and I apologized some more. I explained that I was sick, but the look on his face told me all I needed to know about how well that excuse went over.
I was awake for six hours then went straight back to bed. I slept in until ten o’clock today. Now I don’t know exactly what happened, but this was a pretty strange reaction to a mere few evenings out. Of course, it’s possible that the series of long nights might have led to some kind of over exhaustion. I even think it plausible that somebody might have slipped a “Ruffie” into a drink intended for the Girl and I drank it. Who knows? All I do know is that right about now I’m feeling like this is no way for a thirty-five year old man to be behaving.
And that’s just how I felt at thirty, at twenty five, even at twenty. “This is the time for change!” Jesus, sounds like an Obama campaign promise. (Let’s see how much “change” really takes place in Washington, God bless the president and his efforts.) Or do you remember the line from Half Baked when Dave Chappell's character promises his girlfriend he is going to quit smoking weed: "It's a new Thurgood Jenkins today!" But ultimately I know that this is it; not the result, mind you, not the exact events of the weekend or their consequences. But this is who and what I am. I can fight it. I can resist; and it is in the resistance where the nobility and meaning of the whole effort lies. But there is no denying that I am stuck with this malady for life. I just know it.
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