Yesterday I drove (rode) to San Francisco with the three best looking dudes in Chico to watch the best band in the world open up for three bands that aren't so much the best bands in the world. Granted, I had to brave six hours of Ben's driving to make the trip...but as far as I can tell, I came back fairly unscathed (except for the late night sodomy...shhhh).
It felt great to leave town and go a place where people aren't as clever, there are no trees, and the drinks are twice as expensive. Because the truth is, blowing 50 bucks in San Francisco on stuff that would have cost 10 dollars in Chico makes coming home at 4 a.m. feel that much better.
Not to give out the impression that trips to the city are all about spending money that you don't have on stuff that you don't need, I will enlighten you with amazing tales of life-changing events...or maybe just list them. Somewhere in between homeless Marvin (Jackson, Mississippi), Judi's Place, the art of vagrant poetry, destroying the hunger incurred by the evildoer, Number One Gun all access hook-up (yay!), hey do you want to feel my bump?, hiding in the trailer to ward off the wind, peacoat thievery, ipod sing along, backstage myspacing, and Chico boy show stealers, I realized that yesterday was the best day I have had in forever (always forever).
ps...if anyone wants to head out to Butter with myself and the Sherwood lookalike on some random Tuesday night, call me up. That place slays.
I honestly thought that I had put in enough time this summer doing nothing and being all things all the time...sad / nostalgic / lazy / angry / quiet / hurtful / happy / asleep...but apparently not. Today, after spending an hour waiting around for some moneygrubber to see me for five minutes, I was informed that my body still thinks that being broken is fun and has consequently decided to put off healing itself for another month. Hopefully, after the next month passes and my bones grow back together in whatever deformed shape that they decide suits me best, I can go get some late-night taquitos and start all over again. Maybe next time, my other clavicle will break so that I can have a matching pair.
In other news, there are people that are actually happy about life...supposedly.
Yesterday, for the first time since I finished school, I sat down and read. And I don't mean reading for five minutes to pretend as though I'm not bored, or holding a book up to my face in the park to score points with intellectual girls. I mean actually reading for an extended period of time. I was afraid, because its been so long, that I might have forgotten how to read completely. But sure enough, after staring at the pages for only a few seconds, the letters began to form words, which in turn formed sentences, passages, ideas, stories, and the all important 'the end'. Of course, the only reason that I was able to read the 200-ish pages in one sitting is that the book is a children's book (kind of) and was making me nostalgic for those days when I would play Bastian in the hidden rooms of my parents' house, wasting away the days dreaming of rock chewers and luckdragons. Maybe someday I'll grow up and start reading books on insider trading, but for now...I'll stick with what I know.
Despite my love for modern medicine, I recently decided that it was finally time for me to stop taking the pain medication that I have been on since the accident. Although I am still bruised and disfigured, my body doesn't hurt as much...plus, I don't think that the Vicodin were really doing anything about my quasimodo status anyway.
The past week's clarity has brought about a rapid rise in both my intelligence and general demeanor (except for yesterday's lapse into bummerland...shhhh). My head is finally starting to clear up and I am at long last able to think clearly (for better or worse). The only real drawback is my inability to sleep. While I was on drugs, I was constantly asleep. Even when I was awake, I might as well have been sleeping...stumbling around like a slack-jawed zombie, searching out fresh brains to consume or whatever. But now its seems as though my body is making up for lost time by keeping me awake for what seems like days. Of course, I could use all this extra time to do something productive with myself...write some New York Times bestseller or something...but I would much rather just sit on the corner of my bed, engaging in long-distance longing, reading through letters and postcards from kids that I used to know...all the while hoping that the recently departed don't share the same fate.
Even when I do sleep, its not like its pleasant or anything. Most of my recent dreams are of head on collisions and monsters anyway. And I'll take insomnia over monsters any day.
I have been whispering sweet nothings into your collective ears for long enough...or at least for long enough without getting anything in return. Of couse, I do realize that some of you have gone to great lengths to show your appreciation for me...ice-water fill up, girl scout fan mail, birthday drunk dials, broken bone drink provider, how metal are you giveaway, etc. If you fit into any of these categories, then my proposal is not for you. Move along.
As for the rest of you intellectual moochers, go here and earn your keep.
Help me out with my quest to join the 21st century and I will love you forever. Double cross me, and I'll feed you to the sharks.
ps...its no joke, I have been keeping a shark in my bathtub for just such an occasion.
