It showed up on Facebook as 6 PM BJ’s and I thought it was kind of forward but probably worth investigating because inquiring minds like to know what is going on.
So I decided to follow Lou’s advice to Walk On The Wild Side and took a harder and deeper look to make sure I wasn’t misinterpreting what I was reading.
Sadly it wasn’t a request or the kind of invitation I had thought it was. It was time and place with no promise of anything more than food and company.
Well I have had some pleasant experiences at this particular chain and can speak with knowledge about Jeremiah Red, Pizookies and assorted entrees so there is that.
And it is certainly more enjoyable to consider than reading the joy of having a sociopath with deteriorating mental faculties as president is outstanding.
Even if you agree with that line, which I do, there is no joy in it and less in recognizing how many of our friends and neighbors support corruption and evil.
Hit Them Harder
I took three or four shots to the mouth today and made like a Hollywood superstar.
Wiped my mouth off, rubbed my jaw and said “my turn.”
The old man told me not to take the first swing and to “hit them harder” than they hit me. I mostly took that to heart.
There was a time in life when I introduced myself to others and then too a swing so you can say I haven’t always been against a preemptive strike.
Truth is I am still not and there are moments where hit them harder can be interpreted as hit them first and put a little something something into it.
Most won’t ask so I’ll volunteer I have a healthy amount of anger burning in the old belly right now.
Would I define it as rage or fury?
It is extreme anger but it is under control though I would like to make like Bruce Banner and let it all flow freely.
Sadly this isn’t Marvel and I prefer not to deal with significant consequences so I shall not do more than vent here and say this has taken a chunk of my life.
The operative word in that last sentence is chunk and the amount is intentionally undefined as it is impossible for me to measure it.
Some of the longtime readers and relatives might recall the story about how at age five I asked my father to fight me as I thought I might win and not have to suffer the consequences of the behavior that had placed me in my bedroom.
The same logic that allowed a five-year-old boy believe he could defeat a 30 year-old man in single combat is still at play here.
I do believe that somehow I can beat this particular…issue into submission.
Sadly it is not going to be a physical contest and it may not even be one that can be defeated solely through my intellect.
The most frustrating part of it is feeling like I have as much of a shot at beating this particular villain as I did with my father’s cancer.
I can rage and hurl insults but it won’t fight me. Can’t bait it or fool it into doing so.
Hell the clever beast has already made inroads into painting me as the source of evil, but I can wear that crown.
I can own it.
So you might understand and appreciate why BJs at 6 is of particular interest.
Falling Off A Motorcycle Hurts
Have I ever told you falling of of a motorcycle hurts but not as much as getting hit by a truck that doesn’t notice you lying in the road.
Mind you family legend tells of my great-great grandfather reaction to getting hit by a cab in Chicago.
Grandpa picked himself up and punched the cabbie so there are expectations that have to be upheld here.
In this family you can’t just lie down and moan, at least not until after you have gotten the other guy back.
There are people who can tell you about the time I got headbutted, fell onto the couch behind me and bounced right back to my feet.
That took the glee right out of the person who headbutted me and theoretically proved correct those who said I have a head full of rocks.
So I sit here typing this with one hand while using one hand to open a bottle of Ibuprofen, spasms running through parts of me and bloodthirsty look upon my face.
Don’t ever think I am not up to being the Dread Pirate Roberts, Revenge is my ship and I just might grab the wench I am chasing.
****
I have mentioned that I am 50 more than a few times here and probably a bunch in different settings because I am consistently surprised by it.
It used to sound so damn old to me and now that I am here I wonder why I ever thought that because in so many ways I feel…young.
I think of myself as being young…in spite of the pictures, birth certificate and looks from my kids when I say I am not old.
But there are moments such as now when I feel the years and the mileage.
These aches and spasms are working overtime to secure their place in my field of sight but I refuse to give any quarter.
It makes me wonder a little bit how long I can keep this up for.
Will there be a day when my threshold for pain and discomfort will no longer be enough to compensate?
What will 75, 90 and 105 be like?
I don’t know but I am working on trying to make sure it is a minor issue.
Anyhoo, I would write more but I need to shower and scrub all over because you never know if that other thing is an invitation or a request.
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