Oh. . . Whatever

Oh, whatever.  I'm a sensitive boy.  Things keep piling up.  Yesterday, the roofer came to give me an estimate.  He discovered that the old brick chimney on the two story garage apartment is falling away from the house.  Isn't that fun?  Then Mr. Tree came by to pick up his check.  I haven't checked on the car door yet, nor have I done my taxes.  So WTF--a little sleaze--SerpenTease.  This is from my embarrassingly failed photo trip.  She was a good sport, though.  

I DID get out after dark last night, though.  Went to dinner with Tennessee.  We sat at the bar in the good Italian place.  Dinner was fine, but the bill was jacked.  Later on in the night, I was told that the restaurant had been shut down for a few days.  What?!?!  But it's o.k.  I don't feel like I have been poisoned this morning.  

Not by the food, anyway.  I was ready to go after dinner, but I got a text from the waitress at the Irish bar.  

"Are you guys coming in?"

"Just one," T said.  "I'll drive."

That was the big mistake.  When we got there, and I think he already knew this, a bunch of his Billionaire Boys Club friends were there.  I like them fine, but I knew I wouldn't get out after "just one."

It was amateur hour.  "Tommy brought his guitar.  Let's stay and hear him play."  I'd had beer and a few glasses of wine at dinner.  People began buying me scotch.  No.  Plural.  

My mother was still up when I got home at 11:30, so I poured a drink.  

This morning I had a text from the waitress in response to something I don't remember sending last night.  

Oops.  

I'm too old for this shit, of course, but in the dimly lighted bar with the music blaring, sometimes a woman from a distance across the room can get confused.  I get embarrassed and try not to encourage it.  

But I like it for the moment.  I mean. . . who doesn't?  

Apparently, though, I did a lot of yell talking in the bar because I am hoarse and a little gritty in the throat.  All those tubes from the operations after the accident have messed up my vocal cords, though, and my voice breaks and sometimes just quits when I am talking in a bar.  

"Look what your science has made of me!"

😱

So. . . fuck it.  The house, the trees, the car, the government. . . there is so little pleasure left me in this world. . . I'll take what I get.  A good dinner.  Beer.  Wine. Whiskey.  And, dare I say it?  Women.  I mean. . . maybe, until the lights come up?  Possibly?  

"You're impossible."  

"No, no. . . I'm all too possible."

I've been thinking about not writing about myself here and trying to tell other stories. . . but right now, I am all I know.  The troubles of my time, etc.  

Maybe I'll interview the therapist at my mother's session this afternoon.  I'm sure she'll tell me everything I want to know.  

"It's Friday night," I'll tell her.  "Do you want to get dinner?"

Ha!  

"Um, no.  This room is too brightly lit."  

So it will be me and ma.  Maybe I'll take her out to eat.  I won't let her choose, though.  We'd end up at the Golden Coral or some other Trademarked place.  

Maybe I'll get another pizza.  That would be fine.  And then. . . you know. . . a little Gunsmoke and a Xanax.  

Cue the music.  

"Ain't got none.  Haven't heard any in a good long while."  

"Surely you remember something?"

O.K.  Sorry.  I had to make the YouTube thing.  There just wasn't one.  It is taking a long time.  But man, I'd never heard this version before.  Knock me out.  It still has 25 minutes to upload on YouTube, so I will publish this and come back later to update it. . . if you want to hear the song and if YouTube doesn't block it.