There I was, knee-deep in emotional baggage and booze. She grabbed my hand. Hadn't we been through this? And besides, I was kicking the shit out of Little Miss Tight T-Shirt at beer pong. She misses me; this I know, but currently tight t-shirt looked really inviting. (And she knew it, too). But I was never going to get to explore her with this dead weight holding my hand. Women are inconvenient; wanting intently, leaving me broken, broke and blogging.
Finally Joe walks up, takes one look at me and knows the whole story. "Let's go get a beer out of my car," he says. "I'll be right back," I tell dead weight.
We get outside, my shoes are sticking in the effluvia-mud that is my life, and my armpits are sweaty and I'm tripping on self-induced illusions. Joe hands me a beer. "Thanks," I say.
"No problem," he replies, opening his beer and taking a sip.
I am irritated and pacing.
"You don't look so good," he takes another sip of his beer. I pop the tab on mine, "Dude, this week has been insane. I'm convinced that nearly half the world's population should be in therapy and that if I don't soon learn how to be rude and abrasive that I'll need two therapists. One for me and one for every else's problems that I get to hear about at all hours of the night," I explained.
He sips more beer, hardly looking at me. I try not to get angry. Whatever, at least he's listening to me and not trying to make me deal with his problems. But I am angry, and frustrated. I look down at my feet, embarassed. Joe takes a deep breath, I do the same.
Then, it occurs to me. I'm doing to him exactly that I'm complaining about other people doing to me. "Oh my God," I say.
"What?" he askes.
I say, "I'm turning into my mother." Joe begins to cackle.
I knew this day was inevitable. I've been waiting for it but I never thought it would happen this soon," I say. I take another sip. It's cold and icy and delicious, just as a beer should be. I take a deep breath. Joe is laughing at me. He tackles me and gives me a big Joe bear hug. The ones I never think I need, and sometimes reject, until they're happening, and then I'm floored. These are the moments I should enjoy, so I smile. Joe smiles back. We look up at the stars. "Wouldn't it be nice if we could live somewhere we're not supposed to. If we could move past the fear of it and be comfortable in the uncomfortable? You know, like flick off conventional society and problematic people and live in that place. You know the place where you just don't care because you can't anymore, but you're sort of okay with it?" I asked, thinking surely he couldn't have followed all that. My eyebrows are furrowed with hope.
"Dude, I wrote a speech on that very topic once," Joe spat out. "What? Who did you deliver the speech to?" I asked with excited eyebrows.
"No one. I just wrote it because I thought, I want to be prepared just in case someone ever asks me to deliver a speech," he explaind proudly.
I laughed heartily. I sipped his beer, non-chalantly.
"No problem," he replies, opening his beer and taking a sip.
I am irritated and pacing.
"You don't look so good," he takes another sip of his beer. I pop the tab on mine, "Dude, this week has been insane. I'm convinced that nearly half the world's population should be in therapy and that if I don't soon learn how to be rude and abrasive that I'll need two therapists. One for me and one for every else's problems that I get to hear about at all hours of the night," I explained.
He sips more beer, hardly looking at me. I try not to get angry. Whatever, at least he's listening to me and not trying to make me deal with his problems. But I am angry, and frustrated. I look down at my feet, embarassed. Joe takes a deep breath, I do the same.
Then, it occurs to me. I'm doing to him exactly that I'm complaining about other people doing to me. "Oh my God," I say.
"What?" he askes.
I say, "I'm turning into my mother." Joe begins to cackle.
I knew this day was inevitable. I've been waiting for it but I never thought it would happen this soon," I say. I take another sip. It's cold and icy and delicious, just as a beer should be. I take a deep breath. Joe is laughing at me. He tackles me and gives me a big Joe bear hug. The ones I never think I need, and sometimes reject, until they're happening, and then I'm floored. These are the moments I should enjoy, so I smile. Joe smiles back. We look up at the stars. "Wouldn't it be nice if we could live somewhere we're not supposed to. If we could move past the fear of it and be comfortable in the uncomfortable? You know, like flick off conventional society and problematic people and live in that place. You know the place where you just don't care because you can't anymore, but you're sort of okay with it?" I asked, thinking surely he couldn't have followed all that. My eyebrows are furrowed with hope.
"Dude, I wrote a speech on that very topic once," Joe spat out. "What? Who did you deliver the speech to?" I asked with excited eyebrows.
"No one. I just wrote it because I thought, I want to be prepared just in case someone ever asks me to deliver a speech," he explaind proudly.
I laughed heartily. I sipped his beer, non-chalantly.
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