Friday, September 26, 2008

My Chest Hurts

I know it’s already Friday again, but I’m still stuck on last weekend, which was so out of the ordinary it made my whole entire life feel like a vacation. A herd of really, exceptionally good new people blew in and then left again like a tropical storm, and in their whirlwind came an epidemic of new tattoos, a flat tire in the projects, a party broken up by the cops, a really lame beatdown, a threatened retaliatory beatdown, an oil tank climbed and immediately unclimbed, and milkshakes, and pizza, and an excuse to bake two vegan cheesecakes, and bullshitting while sitting on piles of laundry in the kind of apartment that, when you’re a kid, you think you’ll have when no one can to tell you what to do, and several forties, and some late nights, and a sick day. And one extremely stubborn Sunday crossword puzzle.

I have this undying affinity for movies that take place on one night, because they always make my heart beat with a sense of teenage urgency that’s hormonal and visceral and lovely. I blame watching “American Graffiti” when I was, like, nine or something. To this day, if anything—movies, books, my stupid life, whatever—involves driving around in a car between dumb destinations and having conversations at an absurdly late/early hour with people you wouldn’t otherwise be talking to, I will love it.

I realize this isn’t exactly a story, but what’s the point? My life felt kinda like one of those movies for a little bit, but then I went back to work, I answered my e-mails, I went to my meetings, and I tried to go to bed at a normal hour.


I was unable to completely hide two new chest tattoos. And I am equally unable to go sleep. When you lead kind of a normal life during the day, one which fits slightly uncomfortably, it’s kind of nice to caffeinate things for a little while.


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