my mind is elsewhere
Saturday night, I go to work. There's a private party at the restaurant that night for a man's 40th birthday party. Between runs of clearing away empty beer bottles and cake plates, I take a look at the crowd; slowly making its way to a state of heightened inebriation, bouncing back and forth to decades old popular music. Laughing, swearing, without a care in the world they speak to each other everything that's on their minds. Some things they would never say, and that will get them an awkward greeting the next time they meet. Some people knew my father and told me to say hello for them and I said I will. I wouldn't though, as i didn't plan on remembering their names.
I thought about the whole scene for a little while, at how pointless birthday parties are. You get a bunch of people together, you drink, you give gifts to one person, you make a fool of yourself, and you pay for a cab to take you home. The next day, you have a friend drive you back to the restaurant and you take your car, along with a cup of coffee and a hangover, back home for a few more hours of sickness and sleeping.
I find no fun in it.
This recollection comes as I think of something to do for my own birthday. The idea of consuming so much alcohol that you can't remember anything for a few hours is something I've recently thought of as a wonderful escape. The next day you're too busy feeling the aftereffects to realize that your girl left you for another guy, or that you're two payments behind on a mortgage you can no longer afford, or that you wont have anything to live for when you come out of your stupor. One thing you need though, is company.
For company, I think I need to get a big lazy dog. The one you see the cowboys with in the movies. They have no friends, but they're happy because they have their hipflask and their loyal pal rover. Then there is the other, probably more logical to all of you, solution: Maybe i need to get friends.
Cheers,
Rich
I thought about the whole scene for a little while, at how pointless birthday parties are. You get a bunch of people together, you drink, you give gifts to one person, you make a fool of yourself, and you pay for a cab to take you home. The next day, you have a friend drive you back to the restaurant and you take your car, along with a cup of coffee and a hangover, back home for a few more hours of sickness and sleeping.
I find no fun in it.
This recollection comes as I think of something to do for my own birthday. The idea of consuming so much alcohol that you can't remember anything for a few hours is something I've recently thought of as a wonderful escape. The next day you're too busy feeling the aftereffects to realize that your girl left you for another guy, or that you're two payments behind on a mortgage you can no longer afford, or that you wont have anything to live for when you come out of your stupor. One thing you need though, is company.
For company, I think I need to get a big lazy dog. The one you see the cowboys with in the movies. They have no friends, but they're happy because they have their hipflask and their loyal pal rover. Then there is the other, probably more logical to all of you, solution: Maybe i need to get friends.
Cheers,
Rich