Well, I actually got up out of bed and walked the dogs this morning. This is doubly amazing, because yesterday I had a shitty, shitty day for a variety of reasons and so after work I went over to Broadways to meet Jodi and Dillon for a drink. Yes, as I sat there with my vodka tonic at the bar (I got there first) breathing in the decades of smoke, looking around me at the TV sets and the pool tables and the dim light and Quinto, the silent bartender, it occurred to me that yeah, okay, I'm pretty deeply dysfunctional and there are almost certainly healthier ways to cope with shitty, shitty days. But, what the fuck, embrace what you know, and I know Broadways, even if I did sort of feel guilty when I walked in, like the whole bar was going to turn around and shout, all the vinyl and formica speaking as one, "You whore! You've been been cheating on me with the Admiral! How could you do this to me? I've never changed but you. . . you've gone away, lured by the food and the patio - just because the Admiral is six blocks away from your house, you unfaithful patron, you never come here anymore!" Poor Broadways. I am evil and I feel guilty, but alas, even I, dedicated smoker that I am, have to wash my hair - or, better yet, shave my head - after an evening at Broadways and the Admiral patio is so comfortable. And so local.
Actually, I had a really nice time and after a couple of drinks, I did feel better and, amazingly enough, I still felt sort of better this morning, despite the extremely unsubtle dreams of conflict that my subconscious presented me with all night. I blame my lack of hangoveriness on several things, including the six or so cans of seltzer I drank when I got home and, best of all, the Italian sausage that Miles and I decided to have for dinner county fair style: just straight up grilled with peppers and onions in a cast iron pan and tossed on a bun. Yum.
Now the weekend beckons and this weekend, I swear I will not be sidetracked from my goal of floating down part (probably the polluted gross part, but we're not going to dwell on that - hey, I more or less fell into Baltimore harbor once and I don't have tentacles or glow in the dark, so clearly I'm immune) of the French Broad in one of the highly unsafe little yellow rubber inflatable boats that I bought for $5 at K-Mart a couple summers ago. I was going to do it last weekend and got sidetracked by puttering, but this weekend, fuck the puttering, I wanna float.
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Taking Self Pity to a Professional Level
About Me
- mygothlaundry
- Asheville, North Carolina
- In which a forty something single mother of pretty much grown kids and too many dogs attempts to navigate this peculiar thing called life.
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1 comment:
Quito may not say much, but he plays Celtic music at Jack of the Wood on Sundays.
I didn't realize you're going to use your own floats on the river. Do you have someone to meet you at the take-out point and give you a ride back where you started, or home?
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