Postaday for May 27th: Baggage Check. We all have complicated histories. When was the last time your past experiences informed a major decision you’ve made?
I got one of them headaches here you swear you’ll never drink again. Which is a lie because in my hand, a jelly-jar full of wild turkey. To take the edge off. Woke up at 2 am to gobble some exedrin and spent the next three hours moaning at the pillow where my wife’s head left a dent.
Ha, now you got to guess if she divorced me or died, and then guess if that’s why I drink.
The name’s Dale. Jason made me up— he says that sometimes when these writing prompts leave him flat, he’s going to hand it over to me, let me say a few things. Purely fictional, of course, but then, as he says, the point’s to write, not report. No one’s building a biography about poor old bukkhead.
So where was I. Sitting here in my overstuffed, looking out the window. Hurray for us, another hazy day my little corner of LA. You know how there’s New York City, and then there’s Queens, and there’s Long Island? That’s what this part of LA is like. Right in there and no where close. I don’t look out my window for the celebrities.
Truth is, my history ain’t so complicated. I don’t have to make too many major decisions. Wouldn’t be great if I got to tell you that I pulled the plug on my wife, on account of I had to make the same decision about my ma and I let her linger too long and we all suffered for it? But nah.
Look at me shrug, slosh a little wild turkey on my wrist, and say, sorry, to you, not my wrist.
That’s the second time I’ve brought up my wife. I think Jason’s trying to get somewhere with this. Now, I can’t have murdered her or anything, because he wants me to chime in now and again, and if all I am is a wife-o-cide, that’ll get real boring real fast. I need to be more complicated.
How about this. My wife didn’t leave me, and she ain’t dead. She’s visiting her sister. In, let’s say, Berkeley. Last time she went up there, I made a few bad calls. Sowed some oats. Nothing illegal, broke no vows, but had to take a couple hundred showers to get the glitter out of my chest hair, if you know what I mean.
So this time, major decision: two six packs and the Netflix. That kept me from driving any place. My oats went sowless.
Now what I have to decide is, was it worth it. What I gained in clean conscious, I lost in pounding migraine. And here I am, 10 in the morning, wild turkey in hand, staring out the window. Hazy day. My lawn needs mowing. Gloria, the neighbor, just backed out of her driveway and got slammed by some idiot kid doing 50. 50 in a residential zone. Broken glass everywhere. Kid’s half-hanging out his windhsield. I should call the cops. But damn, this headache is something fierce.