Young and Old
"The beat-beat of your heart! Love it!"
- Beloved
Well, a busy little weekend. A sad revelation; I don't appear to be able to go to my favorite neighborhood bar without being sent into a spiraling depression. Everyone is just drinking and socializing so much, Lord God but it makes me want to get smashed out of my mind. After I visited there with some friends, I had to walk around downtown alone until about 4 in the morning (downtown Winnipeg at 4 in the morning is very, very grim).
On a brighter note, I went to a show on Saturday and saw an old friend. It was a benefit for a feminist film festival, or something, so they had a number of female DJ's. One of them was this chick I went to high school with. An interesting note: in high school I had a mad, insane, ludicrous, bottomless, devoted, passionate, utterly hopeless crush on her. It was a yakuza-style courtship; without honor or dignity. It was also quite unsuccessful, as she wasn't interested in me in that way. It took me a pathetically long time to figure out that you can't actually make someone like you, which broke my young and fragile heart. Anyway, 8 years later, I was kind of nervous to see her again. Would my heart skip a beat when I saw her? Would all those lonely months of longing come rushing back in a single burst and cause my brain to explode in a massive stroke cause by unrequited teenage love?
No.
She came over to say hi, we chatted, caught up on old times. It was nice. No fireworks, no residual angst; my heart was quite still. What in the hell did I ever see in her? Certainly, she's funny and pretty, and it was good to see her. But why did I lose my mind for this girl all those years ago? I honestly couldn't tell you. I guess she changed, or I changed, or some combination thereof. Or maybe no longer having a teenage heart frantically beating in my chest has something to do with it. That's almost kind of sad, isn't it? Will I ever have that head-first lunatic passion again? Christ, I hope so. If any high school kids are reading this: relish the madness of your youth! You will miss it, I assure you.
Man, maybe that's what I miss about drinking. Not so much the oblivion of drunkenness, but the carefree joy of it. Living from moment to moment, whim to whim, without past or future. You know, I never understood the appeal of skydiving; I guess because I was living my life in freefall. My friend asked me the other day if drinking made me feel happy, I had to admit that it did. The freedom to fall from trees, jump from rivers, to live without pride or dignity, or self-respect, or any self-preservation whatsoever. It was rather liberating. I guess the trick is to find out how to get something approximating that feeling while sober. Haven't cracked that one, yet.
At the other end of the spectrum, I helped my friend move her grandfather from one part of his nursing home to the other. Moving is always such a delight, but where's the challenge? Fortunately, the helpful geriatrics at the nursing home thought they would spice up the move by standing in the middle of the hallways staring at us. Now instead of just worrying about not dropping the heavy wooden old-man furniture, I also got to worry about not stepping on and crippling some octogenarian. Thank you, seniors!
P.S. Ubermilf; in case you missed my comments, get a blog!
- Beloved
Well, a busy little weekend. A sad revelation; I don't appear to be able to go to my favorite neighborhood bar without being sent into a spiraling depression. Everyone is just drinking and socializing so much, Lord God but it makes me want to get smashed out of my mind. After I visited there with some friends, I had to walk around downtown alone until about 4 in the morning (downtown Winnipeg at 4 in the morning is very, very grim).
On a brighter note, I went to a show on Saturday and saw an old friend. It was a benefit for a feminist film festival, or something, so they had a number of female DJ's. One of them was this chick I went to high school with. An interesting note: in high school I had a mad, insane, ludicrous, bottomless, devoted, passionate, utterly hopeless crush on her. It was a yakuza-style courtship; without honor or dignity. It was also quite unsuccessful, as she wasn't interested in me in that way. It took me a pathetically long time to figure out that you can't actually make someone like you, which broke my young and fragile heart. Anyway, 8 years later, I was kind of nervous to see her again. Would my heart skip a beat when I saw her? Would all those lonely months of longing come rushing back in a single burst and cause my brain to explode in a massive stroke cause by unrequited teenage love?
No.
She came over to say hi, we chatted, caught up on old times. It was nice. No fireworks, no residual angst; my heart was quite still. What in the hell did I ever see in her? Certainly, she's funny and pretty, and it was good to see her. But why did I lose my mind for this girl all those years ago? I honestly couldn't tell you. I guess she changed, or I changed, or some combination thereof. Or maybe no longer having a teenage heart frantically beating in my chest has something to do with it. That's almost kind of sad, isn't it? Will I ever have that head-first lunatic passion again? Christ, I hope so. If any high school kids are reading this: relish the madness of your youth! You will miss it, I assure you.
Man, maybe that's what I miss about drinking. Not so much the oblivion of drunkenness, but the carefree joy of it. Living from moment to moment, whim to whim, without past or future. You know, I never understood the appeal of skydiving; I guess because I was living my life in freefall. My friend asked me the other day if drinking made me feel happy, I had to admit that it did. The freedom to fall from trees, jump from rivers, to live without pride or dignity, or self-respect, or any self-preservation whatsoever. It was rather liberating. I guess the trick is to find out how to get something approximating that feeling while sober. Haven't cracked that one, yet.
At the other end of the spectrum, I helped my friend move her grandfather from one part of his nursing home to the other. Moving is always such a delight, but where's the challenge? Fortunately, the helpful geriatrics at the nursing home thought they would spice up the move by standing in the middle of the hallways staring at us. Now instead of just worrying about not dropping the heavy wooden old-man furniture, I also got to worry about not stepping on and crippling some octogenarian. Thank you, seniors!
P.S. Ubermilf; in case you missed my comments, get a blog!
posted by Dash Bradley at 3:34 PM
8 Comments:
hmm didn't know you lived in Winnipeg
born and raised
I did get your comment, Dash (may I call you Dash?). You're the second person in as many days to urge me to do so.
As for you, my poor Dash, the world is hitting you hard right now. Although you are crushed and disillusioned right now, you will rise triumphantly from the ashes. I am confident. It's hard to be a thoughtful, truth-seeking person in a world where the happiest people are the most oblivious and self-absorbed. But you'll do it, and you'll be a better person for it.
ooooooOOOOoooo gay people from texas! how exotic!
ma! pa! Geet thee cam-er-ah!
I have another blogger option for you to consider, Dash. If pressed to become a superhero, I have said I would like to be the Tongue Lasher, dressed in red leather, with a whip that ends in a sharp, barbed tongue.
I don't know what to call my minions, though. My friend and sidekick is known as Dr. Sardonic. Any ideas or opinions?
Hmmm, Tongue Lasher is intriguing, but also hostile and threatening (maybe I say this as the recipient of far too many tongue lashings). I don't know, I like 'Ubermilf.' It sounds righteous, cheeky, powerful, self-aware. Good qualities for a blogger.
D'accord. Ubermilf it is. The Tongue Lasher will remain in reserve as my alter ego. My scathing side. Ubermilf will be (relatively) benign. Come visit me so I don't feel like a loser.
Avec plaisir, madame.
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