Wednesday, June 18, 2008

A Murder of Crows - Volume 18

This is a repost of my writings from Itching For Coffee ... Where I often post writings with other talented writers ..

My forehead is still throbbing as I sit here and write this today. I have been to the gym already, and it was a slow day there. Most of my gang didn’t show up so I got to get my workout in without much interruption, but as I sit here I am amazed at the pain that is coming from right above my eye. It will sound like a long story but it really isn’t. I think the whole event took a little under 15 minutes, but it felt like it was a lot longer, and to say the least, I am too old for it all.

Let me start by saying that this July, God Bless, I will be 19 years sober. It is a small miracle for the most part, but not too shocking anymore to any of those that had seen me drink. I was an unearthly monster that was full of rage before I drank everything I could get my hands on, and alcohol managed to strip what little conscience I had left to get the rest of my rage out of my system. Since the last day I drank back in 1989 at the ripe age of 19 {yep, you know you were bad when you never even made it to legal drinking age before the gig was up!} I have formulated the belief that I am completely and utterly intolerant to alcohol, and I have no control over it. Before I get all preachy here, let me say that this relates, because I also happen to have no control over alcohol in other people as well. For many reasons I also happen to be intolerant of alcohol in other people. Again to specify, I don’t care if anyone drinks and actually envy those that can quite good naturedly but I have never been able to tolerate those that let alcohol do to them what it did to me.

I have a routine. My routine is what keeps my day to day going along smoothly, and for the most part holds my sanity in for as long as it possibly can. It consists of getting up each day by 11, hitting the gym by 12, getting some writing done by 3, getting the kids off the bus around then, getting dinner into me by 4, and heading out to work by 5. The second part of my day consists of getting through work as best I can, leaving at 2, stopping at Dunkin Donuts for a large Ice Coffee {which I will keep adding ice to and drink from until it is water the next night when I leave work}, get home by 2:30, sleep by 4am, rinse, repeat. Anything that interferes with all of this is a burden, and that includes all of the doctor’s appointments I take the kids to, picking them up for sporting events, etc etc etc. With three kids there is a lot of etc etc etc. What really drives me up the wall are the extra things that really should have never happened at all, and especially if they are pointless. At one time rescuing raccoon cubs might have filled that bill, but I have grown up over the last few years and have incorporated “The Next Right Thing” theory that has allowed for “extra” hassles in my day to day.

What happened last night was not an acceptable “extra” hassle from start to finish, and my head still hurts so I am a bit pissy about it. On my way through the Dunkin Donuts drive thru there was a sign saying “Window Broken Come Inside” which I hate to do because it takes longer and my clumsiness often forces me to drop my coffee. Of course it is the only one that is open at 2 am so I haven’t really got my choices in the matter. I went inside and there was a crowd of sorts in there that appeared to be exuberant over the Celtics win over the Lakers, and had probably closed the bar they watched the game at. One of these guys was a belligerent Lakers fan that appeared to be barely old enough to drink if he was at all, and he was explaining very loudly to everyone about how the Celtics cheated. This is typical for a Lakers fan, because like their baseball equivalent {the New York Yankees} they have never actually lost a game in the team’s history, but have been woefully screwed repeatedly thus interfering with their perfect seasons they inevitably would have had. The entire country is used to this mental disorder and usually ignores it.

This is where I come in, of course, because I have never known what was good for me or prudent in the least, so after 5 minutes in line I ordered my coffee with this yappy little twit bumping into me, and shouting at everyone. When I finally had my coffee and could have made my big escape unscathed the little red Jeremy on the left shoulder said “Come on, be a smart ass. That’s always fun isn’t it?” and the little white Jeremy on the right shoulder had nothing to say about the matter. I said in an undertone as I walked by, “The Lakers had no business even being there,” and continued on my way. Hey! The truth hurts and all, but sooner or later someone has to educate the poor lad, and who better to do it than me?

The little prick wheeled me around and punched me hard in the forehead. The combination of drunk and stupid had interfered with his aim because I am pretty sure, looking back that he was aiming for my nose or my eye. Twelve inches of solid bone surrounding rock, was none to kind on the little moron’s hand, as he staggered back from what was probably 2 or 3 broken fingers. I barely noticed this because I had stars in front of my eyes and I think tears were probably welling up. I had dropped my ice coffee after all and that always makes me sad. Phase 2 had to be executed though because this little Peckerhead was about 4 inches taller than me and easily half my weight. To be honest with you, my arms were bigger than his neck, and I was rather pissed off that all of the mouthy assholes in the place simply cleared off and left us a lot of room. I am way too old for this shit!

It is after all the responsibility of the old to teach the younger generation things like manners, tact, and dignity, so I did end up grabbing the kid by his neck and dragging him outside while he started yelling in beergoggle about how I was assaulting him. As I had to wrench him from the door that he was clinging onto with his good hand I was starting to get really angry. When I finally got the twit outside I punched him with sober aim clean in the nose and he laid there until the police came and picked him up. I stood there smoking a cigarette until they got there and since the gentleman was a known issue in the area after sporting events the police just took my name and number and let me go about my night. They of course wanted to know if I wanted to press charges and I said no, because I was probably owed from when I was his age. It made the officer laugh actually, when he responded in kind. My head still hurts, so it isn’t exactly bragging.

I went back inside to get another coffee, which the girl behind the counter gladly gave me free of charge, and several of the idiots in there were cheering me, so I told them to shut it, because they were equally as embarrassing to me. The recent events probably made it so that the rest of the beer balls had been put away. I then went home and slowly poked around the web through my cloudy vision, and slept pretty good albeit with a harder time getting out of bed than the last week or so had been. Fortunately I have this little writing side line that I do, and I can find some humor in this crap, and am already planning on incorporating this into my article for my mouse fart this week. That drive thru window better be open the night the Red Sox win the World Series though ;8o)