There are just so many rules in social life to follow… too many rules! I know them all so well that I am aware of many many opportunities to to break them, but I don’t break them on the world stage. Instead I break them in my mind. I play out the entire scene for my own amusement and often detriment. Generally the penalty for breaking social rules is embarrassment. If perchance you happen to not get embarrassed then people go out of their way to explain why you should be embarrassed while giving you those looks meant to teach children to behave and conform. Having broken many social rules, I am conditioned to be highly aware of rules, so aware that I automatically leave social gatherings with a feeling that I did something wrong. It is an automatic response that typically lasts until I finish reviewing the event for validation of the feeling. On a good day this feeling doesn’t bother me, but if I have been stressed, hungover, or not feel particularly well, my ability to deflect irrational thoughts decreases and I become unable to shake it off. Dwelling in these irrational thoughts only makes me feel worse. Awareness of what is going on helps but doesn’t fully cure my episode of despair. All I can do is hope that my general sense of well-being returns to brighten my day.
I am drunk and in need of a rant. Just a regular rant and at the same time, not your ordinary rant. The distance between places seems odd to me. My brain just doesn’t really understand how far away distant lands are. In my mind, I can fall asleep and wake up elsewhere. Fall asleep in LA and wake up in Vegas. Fall asleep in San Francisco and wake up in Hong Kong. Fall asleep in North Carolina and wake up in Paris. And so it goes. The world is small in modern human terms. Life costs so much because we are programed to pay for it. People are annoying because we hang out with them even though we already can spot an annoying character within the first glance. My bed is comfortable because it is. Someone is gorgeous because of his accent. I don’t care about things because they don’t matter. I don’t watch TV. My world is better than yours because I live it. Old friends aren’t friends because they are full of shit in some way. If I could change anything about him, it would only be his location and hair cut…to start with…opps. perhaps that means I should just find another, or go back.
There is a difference between understanding a concept and seeing it. Understanding is the basic theory that people often misinterpret for actually experiencing life that makes you really see how it works. Unfortunately it takes time to really see something for what it is and often you have to simply grow out of eras of your life to really be able to see the whole phase from a workable perspective. Clubbing and bar hopping is a prime example. It seems that most people age out of this phase either once they move back to the suburbs or take on serious full-time career responsibilities. However, there are a few of us who continue to revisit this phase because we understand it more and so are better able to control the fun by messing with those who are not yet thinking outside the bar.
To be honest, I don’t think whiskey and I ever really got along as well as I tend claim despite the many moments when I felt a rush of excitement at the Jameson bottle cap click-clicking open or the crackle-crackle of the ice cubes in a glass warming up to their new roommate. The look on a strange, new face as I perform the classic sip-and-swish with a feminine smile of harsh satisfaction combined with a fleeting eye-to-eye flash, is, definitely, reason enough to enjoy the old man’s medicine.
All was grand until whiskey and I had a major falling out. You see it has this way of making me believe that what I am feeling deep down inside is, more or less, rational and that the company I am with will totally understand and agree that there is a problem and they will help me resolve misunderstandings with it. On top of that, it makes me believe that expressing what I am feeling in the most abrupt and, at times, explosive manner is the best idea ever. “After all,” whiskey tells me, “your true friend (a) will understand what actions have lead you to feel this way, (b) knows that feelings aren’t facts, and (c) realizes that at this moment in time, there is no way to sugar coat the fact that it hurts you to have to hear about ‘her’ all-the-time.” Being starved of proper outlets of natural emotion, especially frustration, in my normal awareness, whiskey provided me with an outlet which, I found, works well to weed out those who think solely about themselves under the guise of thinking for themselves, at price, of course.