Last night my friend RayB came into town to visit, since she moved back to NOLA a few months ago. Incidentals: she looked great and I told her so. New Orleans agrees with her (I told her that too). I was walking out of the house to go over to JoMo's for the get-together, when I spied a flat tire in the darkness. I called Jacques to see if he'd give me a lift, he obliged and I came back inside to wait, though in actuality I was mostly sulking.
I flopped down and cried and wrote in my live-action journal this, among other things:
"Financial loss begets more financial loss and I find myself in a low and hopeless state . . . The post-graduation years have been some of the most trying times in my life. What's frightening is the lack of direction and the absence of an end that will justify these means. I am too young to feel this tired and downtrodden . . . Another frightening reality is that life is hard and it will never again be easy. It will only get more difficult . . . Granted, no one ever said that life would be easy, but I'd at least like to see a point to all of it. As of late, my perception of the world has shifted from that of a place saturated with purpose and meaning to a landscape devoid of both."
Grim was my outlook. I smoked a cigarette until I could no longer deny how much worse it was making me feel, stamped it out and went out front to wait for my ride and kick my tire, since that's what you're supposed to do when you've got a flat.
The company last night was nice and witty (and there were puppies!) and it did me much better than I had anticipated. I walked away with a very minor head injury, and a gas of a story to explain it:
JoMo's roommate, Liberace, is one of those guys who, firstly has been accused by his fellow bandmates of having Asperger's, and secondly hoards weird crap for the love of bizarre things and the stories behind them. He had this stuffed Matisse doll, that I took an interest in cause I couldn't imagine how creepy the circus that it came from must have been. It's clothes were felt, for cryin out loud, and the crotch on the doll was out of control, in the worst kind of way. Liberace explained that his Mother saw this Find at a garage sale, thought of him and made a gift of it. He said something to the effect of, "Oh, you should see the box," to which I replied, "This thing came in BOX?!" (I was surprised, as I assumed that abominations such as these were not manufactured but just came into existence, like evil and the AIDS virus.) Liberace interpreted my mock horror as burning curiosity and decided to toss me the box, so I could have a look-see. Being that he DIDN'T GIVE ME A HEADS UP though, the next thing I knew, there was a box hitting me in the head (which hurt just slightly more than I thought it might). It then ricocheted off of my forehead and, on its descent, brought down various chachkies that were thought to be perched safely on the coffee table. I immediately thought and blurted out, "Why in God's name would you think that would be a good idea?! Ever??" Needless to say he felt really bad. I was not hurt, only somewhat stunned and mostly tickled.
As we were leaving, he apologized again. I told him not to worry about it. As soon as we stepped outside, though, I started laughing and Jacques asked why. I said, "Liberace really did hit me in the head with a box." He said he looked forward to practice (they're in the same band) the next day so that he could tell everyone another Liberace story.
Anyway, I had a good time, laughed a lot, lost a little blood (ok, I'm exaggerating). You'd be surprised at how your load feels lighter after a night of cuttin up. You'd also be surprised at how the light of day can make a tire that looks flat at night look like it's actually just runnin a little low on air.