Tiny Tacos > Wintery Mix

What I do is I get some tortillas. What I use inside is a box of Goya. Rice and beans is easy, but a box with a bag in it is one step closer to food. Pre-seasoned and it's $2. I put some sour cream in there if it's a good day, and yes - heaven smiled upon me this evening. Tiny tacos with hot sauce sprinkled on every bite. And the wintery mix was kept at bay.

Cashing in a jug of money.

Oh, the bank. Or credit union in my case. I cashed in half a wine jug full of coins. There was also a keychain and at least one small bud of marijuana in there. The pot wasn't worth much, but the rest of it totaled $171.56. I put that in savings and transferred the remainder to bring my savings account to $300. Now I'm saving. $300 per month will add up to a new van in a couple years, and that's the point.

Goal and plans; dirt and flight.

I shipped a ton of eBay items today. A ton more are ending later. I also have more to list.

Taking a single tiny Ritalin makes a huge difference. It's not the shocking miracle it seemed like the first day I tried it, but it's an extremely helpful nudge in the right direction. I feel like - and this comes as a shock - I'm able to operate like a normal person. I was sure in the past that I was shitty-lazy, but I think my psychology is in fact more complicated. I have huge aspirations and wonderful ideas. I have goals and plans. Somehow I let all of it get heaped under a pile of dirt. Now I'm ready to brush it off again and see if it can fly.

Making money; spending money. And "The Superbowl"

I just got finished with working six days in a row. The van isn't finished, but it will be... soon. I'm looking at the totals from my listed auctions and estimating what my next paycheck might look like. I'm hoping there's enough left over to get a laptop. My big laptop is down with a nasty virus and it's not exactly new or reliable anymore. At the expense of sounding like a spendy materialist consumer, I'm thinking MacBook Pro.

But what I was really doing was being at a Superbowl party. No, I didn't know many people. No, I didn't drink. Yes, I wanted to leave early. Yeah, it was alright.

Selling parts; wishing I was buying other parts.

My eBay auctions totaled over $1000 at some point today. That's not what I'll net, but it looks great on a computer screen. I can pay for the van's transmission and my new bicycle.

7:21pm: Re-listing some unsold eBay parts and generally ogling other parts which are expensive. I wish I didn't want a shitload of expensive bicycle parts, but I do. I know I don't need them, but it doesn't help. I feel like I somehow deserve DT Swiss 240s hubs.

I have a runny nose.

I started to feel ill today. I can handle catastrophic events in stride, but give me a runny nose and you'd think somebody died.

Trikin'

I started the day off right. I took the trike to work listening to dubstep. That's a great way to alter reality in the morning.

Riding tricycles and such.

We triked out to get cereal and some money from the ATM. She stood on the back. One audacious motorist didn't like this, and my middle finger eased up in response: a calm, silent reply. A reflex as automatic as taking a breath. Overall, it was a good day.

More Money.

Another guy got sick, so now I can work instead. More work = more money. More money = what I need.

Running errands like a normal human being.

Another Ritalin day. It was very helpful in allowing me to list eBay auctions and run errands in a smooth, calm, and well-prioritized manner. My preliminary test results are showing this to be a drug that gives me superhuman abilities.

eBay, Transmissions, New Bicycle, PBJ

I hitched a ride back to Kennett with my folks after work. I brought boxes and packing materials to ship out some more stuff I sold on eBay. I also took a suitcase packed with bicycle parts that I bought at the last swap meet. There's a lot more to list on eBay, and the race to raise money for my transmission continues.

Also, I bought a bicycle. For me. We were about to sell out of KHS Urban Xpress bicycles from 2011, so I got one for myself before that happened. I have a high opinion of the bicycle and I'm not too fond of some of the changes for the 2012 model.

I bought some top quality PBJ ingredients - only the best, all around. Boom.

Reading an article about adults with ADHD

7:21pm: I'm reading an article about ADHD and realizing how the descriptions actually define me closely. Crap. I probably would have been better off at many points in my life by taking medication. Now I'm ready to try it. From the short test run, it looks like it's only going to help to have a brain that functions in a more "normal" fashion as far as transmitters and receptors are concerned. Maybe that should be obvious. I should have been more open to this option, or at least willing to explore it. But I was turned off to the idea of medications. Only recently have I realized how impractical that stance is. And maybe my unfounded opinions deserve more research. Obvious things don't occur to me when they should.

Headed home. Used transmission = $1000.

7:21pm: Taking a ride home from the shop with Shelly.

My transmission is shot. Used transmission = $1000. And maybe I'm willing to pay it. Wow. And I'm counting on these eBay auctions to make that money. And maybe I'm still going to get a new bike. Geez.

 

Took a Ritalin again today. Low dose and effective. I would be going insane with this admittedly small workload otherwise. I'm looking forward to sorting all this out. "It's just money." And really, I feel sort of on top of my game still. Huh.

Swap check; Brainstorming

7:21pm: Seeing when the next Trexlertown swap meet will be. Brainstorming about what else to buy and sell on eBay. 

Looking at a stack of "Krave"

Listing more eBay; getting boxes for everything; 


7:21pm: Looking at a huge stack of "Krave" Cereal at Wal-Mart. Feeling a mix of fear an amusement about said cereal.


Ritalin is sort of a wonder drug

Talked to India about Modafinil. Ritalin might be a better and cheaper bet if I could somehow swing a prescription.

I need help! This is about seeking solutions.

I have an issue. My brain doesn't work the normal way. It's all the ADHD I have. I am over the idea of thinking it will fix itself. I want to be productive. I want to act on all of the great creative projects and ideas I have. At the same time, just a short and simple task list will cripple me. Give me one small thing to accomplish, and I will feel inundated and afraid. Being unproductive makes me upset, frustrated and anxious.

Fuck. Fuck fuck fuck! I quit drinking. I've quit drinking a handful of times, and each time it is my sincere hope that it will allow me to be more productive. I want progress, and I want to see my plans and projects come to fruition. After a few months of sobriety, I realize that I am still just as incapable of accomplishing the smallest tasks, and I come to the conclusion that alcohol was not responsible. Then I drink some. Then I drink more. Then I'm wasted every night for a very long time until I hurt myself and repeat the cycle.

I don't want to repeat this. I need help! My life is pretty good, but god how I need help with this! I should be in a support group for the alcohol thing, but I'm going to skip that. I'm done drinking forever. Boom. For the unproductive brain that is easily crippled into inaction, I want help. I love myself, and I love what I've accomplished in life - but I am recognizing clearly that I will always fall far short of my potential. Far short.

I was diagnosed with ADHD as a kid in 6th grade. I got some pills for it, but I was immediately like "fuck this noise! I don't need a pill to change how I am!" The diagnosis and the medication were presented in the worst possible manner at the worst possible time in my life. It was the right fix at the wrong time - and it would not have helped my social problems which only time would cure.

Now? I still have that same ADHD - I'm sure of it - but now I'm receptive to help. I am ready to accept that something isn't right. Nothing I've tried to do for myself has helped. People take medication for this, and I'm open to seeking potential solutions. No more soap box of flimsy ideals.

I tried a Ritalin today. One tiny pill. I was a task machine, and I can't believe how well it worked. I felt like my normal self, but I completed a long list of errands that I've been putting off and fretting over for weeks. It was easy. I was calm, and the feeling of accomplishment was rewarding and enjoyable.

I'm going to see a psychiatrist and be open minded about the opinions of a professional for once.

Poor weather; poor mood. Transmissions and anxiety.

Shitty cabin fever type feeling. Transmission trouble in the van? The weather: cloud. A big cloud all day. I watched shitty tv all day. Not bad on paper: big nice house to myself. No big responsibility to speak of. But I'm not happy. I'm spaced out and inundated. What can I do to help?

4 inch hoagies make me happy.

Driving to Kristin's after eating a 4" hoagie, 24oz coffee ($1), mac n' cheese ($.99) and getting gas ($74.54). It's cold out. Crummy. My mood was poor, but it got better with the addition of a hoagie. Maybe I can dance a little.

Shopping for a fancy bicycle bag.

7:21pm. I'm using a small laptop and a sketchy internet connection to compare saddlebags online. I'm specifically seeing how the Carradice Camper Longflap model stacks up against any other bag. After a couple hours of this, I added what I wanted to a shopping cart and checked out. Boom.

Out to lunch in social situations.

7:21pm. I was at the Buried Beds film showing. I wasn't terribly social, but I wasn't awfully shy either. I felt ever so sober and out to lunch.

Coffee and popcorn.

My girlfriend felt under the weather, so I spent the whole day being lazy at her house. We watched Moneyball. I drank coffee and ate popcorn.

KHS Professional get the dust blown off.

My KHS Professional road bicycle hasn't been ridden in a three years. I'm finishing up building the rear wheel and making it a single speed with three cogs on the cassette hub. See: Lon Haldeman's PBP Rivendell. Yes - I intend to be exactly like that guy.

I'm at Red Lobster

I'm eating at Red Lobster with my parents. I'm not filling up either. I could eat more. I could really just eat... like so much food.

Buzzing off my beard.

7:21pm. I'm cutting off the biggest beard I've ever grown. Bzzzzz. I hung out with my family today.

Eating deer meat.

I signed up for an REI Visa card. But right now I'm watching Top Gear and eating deer meat. I have never felt so American in my life.

When a VCR gets your best.

I'm wasting a lot of my free time doing pointless eBay searches and pining for bicycles that I wish I didn't want. I tried to hook up a VCR that Mike left behind when he moved out of this room that I'm renting now. That VCR dunt fuggin' work. I blew 5 bucks on some VHS tapes, and this piece ain't workin' none. Geese! It's bad news when a VCR gets your best.

Barcade doesn't have good pickles.

I'm at Barcade again. I'm not drinking still, and I don't even want to. Life is great. My friend finished up boat school, so we're celebrating the milestone. I just ate a sub-par pickle.

Ethiopian food.

I'm eating at Dahlek. It's an Ethiopian restaurant in West Philly. You eat with your haaaands, maaaan...

I used to score fat sacks of weed behind this place back in the day.

Wrestling a futon.

I'm wrestling a $50 Craigslist futon up into my room. It would be nice to sit next to my girlfriend some time, and I'm trying to make that dream a reality.

I did 4 things today.

Oh boy was I ever busy today.

1) At 7:21pm I was reviewing PBJ sandwiches on my new photo blog.

2) I spent a few hours reading about the Cree Indian villages in northern Quebec. (Checking to make sure that shit is still rural.)

3) I got a bigger espresso bubbler for my camp stove. More espresso? Sil vous plait, mi amor!

4) Watching Donnie Brasco with a jumpy picture is a waste of time. Getting stoned doesn't make it any better.

Sassy about a Nalgene.

It's nice to have a day off after six working days in a row. Kristin was over and we had our morning coffee and checked the West Philly thrift stores. First you look for t-shirts, then you check in on the knick-knacks next door. I got a Nalgene bottle for a buck. Who's the boss? I guess that's me.

Selling bicycles feels good.

I'm feeling all sorts of proud of myself. I sold three bicycles at work today - which is awesome - and I'm basking in it.

Personal info yard sale circus.

I'm in the process of giving too much personal bank info to try to get Modafinil from India. Routing number? Social security number? Bank account number? No problem, sketchy India website! Here you go!

Piss poor grocery shopping.

Today felt off. Being at the worst grocery store ever isn't helping. I will not be back to this grocery store.

Shameful Eggplant

I'm eating a sub-par eggplant parm sandwich. It was delivered in a sweaty styrofoam container with an over-toasted roll. The mushy insides tried to hide deep in the crease of the roll. I assume this was out of shame.

Birds, Books, Cold.

I was playing Angry Birds. Then I read some of "Sweet Thursday." It's super cold outside.

I'm okay! It's cold!

I'm getting over the sickness I felt. I got lucky. I'm built to be resilient, and I didn't get it too bad.

Back to work! I've been loafing around for awhile, but now the bicycle shop is open, and I've got hours.

It was cold as a sonofabitch on my ride in this morning.

Sickness goes around.

Sickness goes around. How sick is that? You can guess when you're going to get it.

If you have a roommate and a loved one who are ill, then you're in line. When I woke up this morning, the world was a mild hallucination. I slept some more and tried again around 3pm. I floated around the neighborhood in a malaise. All attempts to purchase nourishment failed. I returned home and sank.

A semblance of sanity was restored when chicken noodle soup was delivered to my door.

Getting a bicycle for my girl.

I'm batting a fucking thousand.

I woke up in the wonderful setting that is my Philadelphia apartment. I woke up next to a girl that thinks I'm pretty good. So far so good, she thinks. Satellite was closed today - being New Years and all - but Dunkin Donuts did not disappoint. Except for all the farting.

I took the wheel. We drove to the bicycle shop, and I used my keys to unlock the store and rifle through the contents. Test rides. I put Kristin on a couple of damn-fancy bicycles. I employed the use of tape measures, allen wrenches and a tire pump. I explained possibilities and how to shift.

She picked the cheap one. Out of everything, the used bicycle with the cruiser bars was the one that spoke up. "It's yours!" I said. By that I meant that she could pay for it later.

The Smoking Popes are worth a damn

The Smoking Popes are one of my girlfriend's favorite bands for some reason. When I found out they were playing at the Northstar Bar in Philly - and I could get tickets - I knew I had something. I tossed my credit card numbers onto the internet, and the tickets were at will-call.

We arrived an hour before midnight, and I secured a spot for us in the front. The turnout was not huge, so staking out a spot proved unnecessary. We were up front, and we took the set list when they were finished with it. She thanked me several times, and I felt great for finally getting someone a present that was worth a damn.

Diner Breakfast, living life...

We had breakfast at the Creekside Diner in Kennett. Two weeks from now, I will rate this diner a 4-5 out of 10. I spent all of two days with Kristin, and it felt like time well spent.

Calm and unresolved.

I don't know the future. Nothing was resolved, yet somehow I am calmed.

Reading, eating wings, vacationing...

The book "Sweet Thursday" makes me romanticize drinking and being possession-less. I stay quiet and drift along. We got all-you-can-eat wings last night, and I tried to put the place out of business.

Williamsburg, Yorktown, Jamestown(e).

We're in Williamsburg Virgina as a family. My folks got a nice timeshare rental with a switch-on fireplace. There are two bathrooms and two bedrooms. I happily take the couch.

Yorktown; Jamestown(e). At some point, they dropped the 'e.' Such things make me curious. Since when was "salad" ever spelled with a 't?' That's how it appeared on the menu in old(e) Williamsburg(e?). Maybe that was a put-on.

The day was full of gift shop(pe)s and low-budget educational films at various visitors centers.

Crochet. I'm whipping together items which include a can koozy and another top-tube pad for a bicycle. I have plenty of time for doing that and reading books.

Onward! A family vacation.

Let me make these updates brief, because the sweet parts are recorded in my notebook where sticky melted chocolate can adorn the margins. I woke up in a little bed with a person beside me, which I'm really quite fond of. I'm fond of everything involved.

It was the morning after Christmas in Kennett Square, Pennsylvania. It was a lovely morning on which I rose early to drink coffee and prepare for the road. My family - the original nuclear four - milled about briefly in preparation. We did this. We put stuff in the back of a minivan.

We got into the minivan, and set our course for Williamsburg, Virginia. A family vacation had just begun. We did stuff like stop for coffee. "How To Train Your Dragon" is a movie that we watched on the flip down DVD player. That's who we are, and that's how we do it. Refreshments were at hand in the back.

Practical gifts and a successful Christmas.

Christmas morning. I ate from the counter-top smorgasbord and scrambled together a last-minute gift presentation. We exchanged gifts, and it was nice and great. All of the gifts I received were practical, and everything fit inside a shoebox except for the Dremel and the shoes themselves. Stuff that fits my life or gets eaten. Ideal.

Oh, she sends me txt messages, and oh how I smile. It keeps getting better, and my Christmas gift was a painting. Not just any painting, but a painting of me, and oh how grand it is! I'm vain, and this version of me is pleasing indeed. And I'm riding a big tricycle. She got it just right.

I should have made the scarf 46 inches longer.

Loaded, Poised and Ready.

I worked. After today, the shop is closed until January. Christmas is tomorrow.

I had my van loaded, poised and ready. I set out for Kennett after work. Kristin visited me at my folks' and I gave her a long yellow scarf as we sat next to the remote-controlled fire with fake logs.

How long to make your scarf.

We had black bean soup and we all talked. The soup needed salt. And more beans, or so she said. I was happy to be there, I felt like I should be there, and I talked a whole lot. I was happy and comfortable, so I went into yammer-mode right there at the kitchen table. I felt great.

I don't know enough about crochet to make anything shaped like a heart, but fringes are easy. I spent many hours crocheting a scarf for Kristin. I decided on a length: Long enough to show her I love her, and I'm not excessively lazy. That's exactly 46 inches, not including fringes.

Rearranged plans land me in Newark.

Cancelled dinner plans were really only an unexpected rearrangement. I'm flexible! I ended up at the last table. Some tables were pushed together at the Deer Park in Newark, and I didn't know anybody, including myself. They'll serve a guy a soda, but they'll pour it in a plastic cup. It's a circus with a straw, and I don't want any beer, but I'd love to throw one on the ground. The girl at the opposite corner is drinking a coffee, but I doubt she's thinking about the ceramic mug. So I don't talk much, but I'd like a goddamned pint glass, hide-me.

Rainbows and rainbows, but not too many rainbows! And I manage to talk enough to say when I feel strongly - maybe raise my voice a little and curse a little joke from my throat.

Time and complacency bred a calm indifference which gave way to a subtle near-enjoyment. It just takes some time. A change of venue to Homegrown didn't hurt either, for the love of crap. I smoked pot and soaked up some compliments as rain hit the windshield. Back to Philadelphia. I'm alive and satisfied, but I can't live up to the hype, and I'm not sure if I'm actually talking right now.

Pizza, Popes, general safety.

It's my mother's birthday, and I remembered to txt her and use copious exclamation points and "xo's"

Kristin arranged for a guy to bring pizza to the front door. We sat around eating pizza and being generally safe enough. I scored tickets for a Smoking Popes show on New Years, and that should get me some points since that's something like her favorite band.

A persistent mist remained.

My parents visited the city. I worked. We had dinner at a neighborhood restaurant, Rembrandt's, and it was nice.

It rained all day, and a persistent mist remained when I was dropped off at my bicycle.

Christmas shopping and public restrooms

Kristin helped me with Christmas shopping. I'm terrible at it. I have some issues with Christmas shopping which when examined I can recognize as being related to the obsessive compulsive tendencies that I would like to continue to dismantle and rid myself of. It's like pooping in a public restroom. Sometimes you just have to deal with it, and you'll be much happier when you do. I made progress, and I think next year will be easier.

Workin' on the Hoopty.

After work today, it was time. I got to work on the Hoopty. There were several tasks to attack, and as I rode away, I was more than pleased with the outcome.

1) I removed the vestigial shifter mounts from the brake levers. My cheap old Shimano Altus brake levers have nicer quality barrel adjusters than you see on any but the most expensive levers today. That's the main reason I like them. Also, they were free. They had a circular area next to the clamp which used to be where a trigger shifter was mounted. I had no interest in those stupid old shifters, so I detached and disposed of them, just leaving the good part. Today, I used a hacksaw to remove the extra material. Then I filed down the rough marks and colored it in black with a Sharpie to match the rest of the lever. Professional stuff, here.

2) I removed the Chris King headset and put the Tange one back in. It's a funny situation when a Tange headset that I got for $11 can outperform a Chris King. The Tange spins like a dream, and all the Chris King could do was complain that my hi-tensile Chinese headtube wasn't reamed and faced to a precise enough tolerance. Touché, Mr. King.

3) I removed my barend shifter setup - Suntour downtube shifters mounted to triathlon adapter pods - and installed some inexpensive Falcon friction thumb shifters. By inexpensive, I mean that they are literally the cheapest shifters you can buy. Any cheaper, and they're free. Retail cost is $12 per pair - including cables and housing. My cost: $5.47. These shifters work great, and nobody ever needs anything nicer. Get whatever you want, of course, but it blows my mind how a person can literally spend hundreds of dollars on fancy shifters trying to chase down something that works better. In this case, simpler and cheaper IS better. I concede that racers need - or at least feel entitled to - expensive equipment. They can keep it. Falcon shifters are a well kept secret. Cheap; weigh nothing; always work. And they're so simple, a crosseyed moose could change out a cable with one hoof.

4) Ran new cables and replaced beat-up housing.

Everything works great. Aside from being a heavy bastard to carry up a flight of steps, I still have the best bicycle ever. It gives me great joy to show respect to this humble machine.

Chillin' with Dave.

I worked today, and stayed at the shop after we closed. I thought today would be a good day to straighten out some lingering bicycle issues. It didn't take. I wasn't in the mood to get started.

I went home and my buddy came over to sit around and not do much for awhile. I don't confide as much in the internet as I used to. I've been opting to spill my heart and brain into notebooks instead of computer screens. I can talk to Dave about that stuff too.

Went to bars; didn't drink.

Went to bars; didn't drink. Nielle was a guest bartender at a place on Passyunk. Shelly took me and Stacy over there in a car. Hot pizza and soda for me, please! I'm a child and my mouth isn't burnt!

Mike is the first person you want to see. When you start scribbling together a list, he's usually right up there at the top. If you're using lined paper, there's a good chance his name is up in the margin. Mike was having a birthday thing at the bar Prohibition, so Shelly pointed her car at that place next.

I sat around and knocked knees with a good turnout of alcohol consumers. I drank water, played with straws and jawed around some with my amigos. Time goes, and so did we. I got back home a bit after midnight an opted for a pillow instead of the smoke I'd been thinking about.

Sound the alarms.

I got some Wawa shirts at the Salvation Army in West Chester. Good finds. Appropriately, my mom got us some hoagies later. Wawa "classic" size hoagies are on sale. Sound the alarms. All of them.

Yarn supplies

More yarn. Yeah, I got some more yarn. And a size 'G' crochet hook. I'm not learning new techniques very quickly, but I have a growing stockpile of cheap yearn. It's easier to buy yarn than to use it for anything.

Koozies. I can make some of those. I can make more bicycle tubing decorations. I can make a scarf. That's about all until I buckle down and get fancier and faster.

Happy Hunting

I leave for Kennett around 4pm. I listen to This American Life followed by the Sleigh Bells album I've been loving. My life is good right now. I have a bounce in my step, and I don't feel the nagging notion that I'm alone or stagnant or killing myself slowly. 

I find myself wanting to plan another bicycle trip. I'd like to get out again for awhile. My mind drifts to Nemaska and how I never got all the way there.

I have the perfect bicycle. It's a blessing and a curse. It's great to reach the pinnacle, but it doesn't leave me with any satisfying voids to fill. Having an imperfect bicycle allows for constant tweaking, perpetual upgrades and an unending outward flow of cash. I miss that. Some people make it their life's work to chase the perfect setup, but I just rolled over and woke up next to it. 

I might not need anything. I logically can't make myself believe that there is a single bicycle component that will make me happier or make my bicycle run better. None of this makes me stop looking. I look at bicycle parts and daydream for hours. I don't need any of it, but I need to look at all of it. Technically, I'd like a new rear wheel. The one I'm using is a cheap loaner from the shop. The search begins. I check eBay for whole wheels, hubs, rims - all imaginable varieties and combinations. Then I start looking at everything from stems to bottom brackets. Don't need any of it. Then I re-check to make sure the price of a full custom titanium frame hasn't dropped below the fifty bucks or so I could afford right now. Nope: still in the thousands. I'll resume the hunt another time. In a way, it actually never ends.

The model for an easy life:

I nap a lot of the day. I crochet some, and Kristin returns to my Philly apartment after working. I make tacos and espresso.

In the morning we take the trike out to get coffee. Then she stands on the back again as I take us to the Second Mile thrift shop to scope out t-shirts and knick-knacks.

12/11/11

None of this bothers me much.

Mac n' Cheese goes up.

Saturday night found me inside my home. Me time. I was happy to get mac n' cheese at the bodega. Shells and cheese - not the stuff with powdercheese. What do I look like here? I got the last box of the $2.89 stuff with the Spanish translations. It looks like they're switching to some $3.79 business. Tough times.

Bacteria, viruses - you name it. The sky is falling, and little pieces of it are coming through my telephone speaker and my computer display. I remain astonishingly stoic as I look to the palms of my hands for advice.

Cafe Bustelo at home.

As my watch beeps, I'm pulling a brick of Cafe Bustelo out of my backpack. I'm sitting in my Philadelphia bedroom's golden easy chair, and I'm happy to be home. These are easy times.

I have an open brick of Cafe Bustelo spilling into a large ziplock bag. The yellow brick of espresso is inexpensive and Cuban as fuck. I have a one-shot espresso bubbler, and I am the king. I can make little espressos on my camp stove wherever I go. Boom.

Riding nine bicycles to a Flyers game.

The bicycle shop employees and investors were all invited to a Flyers game. Free tickets were passed out to those who chose to attend. A group of us met at the bicycle shop and ate hot dogs and grilled squash. People who weren't me had a bit to drink too. Nine of us crowded to the sidewalk on our bicycles and set off in the form of a big crew.

The bicycles had personality. Nine unique bicycles were adapted to the needs of their riders. All of the bicycles were smart and capable. There was nothing stupid or fancy. It was fun to look at, and it was fun to ride along. Riding in a tight group of people who know how to navigate traffic was almost as fun as the Flyers game itself.

It was a great night.

7:21pm? Ruby Tuesday.

My family all went to Ruby Tuesday. That's a typical place where we might end up. That or Perkins. Coupons are involved and the food is alright.

Money, dentists, trikes, vans.

I could kinda use some more money. Surely. I should be selling stuff, since I have stuff to sell. Instead, I don't. I don't work much, and I don't have a lot of money. Just enough. Rent is cheap and expenses are low, so I'm just kinda riding it out until some money grows on trees.

I'll tell you. That dentist work a few days ago didn't include any root canals, but it hurt like a bastard. They cut down my remaining tooth-parts to nubs and glued on a rectangle that's shaped like two teeth, but is actually one piece. It feels pretty stupid, and it's not quite as straight as I'd like it to be. I'm told this will be fixed on the final run.

I sold a bicycle. That's a start. Boom. I put those sleeves on my trike. I trike'd Kristin and myself out to get coffee. Then I drove to Kennett in my van. Boom.

Crochet'd Tricycle Handlebar Sleeves

I enjoyed another night of hanging out in my beautiful Philadelphia lair. I crocheted all the way to the end of the second sleeve for my tricycle's handlebars. Looks boss:

Birthdays, grape leaves, and a beating heart.

Mike is my age now. The big two-niner. I went to a low-key birthday gathering at Barcade. It would have been socially easier if I was drinking booze and/or I enjoyed old school arcade games. But as usual, I was able to ease myself into having a good time.

After 7:21pm, Kristin and I exited toward the west. Fu-Wah deli doesn't have the small can of stuffed grape leaves. Tofu hoagies were fortunately unaffected.

We're in love. I said so; she said so. I typed it already, but now the words came out of my mouth. This is progress.

Sitting and making stripes.

My friend and I sat in my room. There's not a lot to do in my room, but I like it here. I'd be up for going out, but without bars or similar tomfoolery, I can't concoct much of a plan. Instead, I sat on my bed and crocheted row after row to make a skinny rectangle. The rectangle has many colorful sections separated by lines of yarn the color of dark coffee. I am making two of these, and they will be sewn together to make sleeves for the tall hi-rise handlebars on my tricycle.

I have the book "Crochet For Dummies." It taught me how to switch yarn colors to make stripes.

Standing about after work.

It was one of those days when there seemed to be enough to talk about. After I locked up the bicycle shop, I stood around talking to my buddy about various subjects. We almost stopped the conversation a few times, but it picked back up. I feel great. Physically and mentally I feel whole. I wish I thought it would last forever, but it doesn't bother me that I know it won't. I'm enjoying the present tense.

Dec. 1 '11

Got some colorful yarns at Wal-Mart. Rented a DVD. Sat around in Kennett.

Crochet today, crochet tomorrow...

The internet: I looked at pictures of some public art installations by the crochet artist Olek. I did an image search on "crochet bicycle" and quickly found photos of bicycles that she'd completely covered in crochet and yarn. Cranks, rack-mounted child seat, cable housing... everything.

I like my free time. I like sorta-kinda being into crochet even though I only know one stitch and can still only make rectangles. I have goals. I'd like to get better and faster and start crocheting sleeves and scarves to cover sign posts, trees and bicycle racks. I want to make some colorful knotted yarn and decorate some public spaces. I've seen that stuff around, and it resonates with me. First I need to make a hat. Then maybe some little crochet cheeseburgers.

(search "yarn bombing")

...

7:21pm: Content. In Kennett.

Key West might be pointless.

He sounded full of business when the conversation ought to have been casual. I got a call back from a guy who I would consider a friend. Not a close friend, but a friend with a bicycle shop who could give me a job in Key West. Check back. He might hire someone else, so check back. I'm wondering when this pool of competent mechanics showed up down there. From what I've seen, you're lucky if your mechanic isn't throwing up in the toilet all day.

Why do I want to go to Key West? I don't. I was interested to realize this. The island is there, and it will also be there later. It exists as an important part of my past, and it is an escape hatch that will never be welded shut. Key West is there, and I am here. I can exist in either place, but for once the grass actually seems greener right under my feet. I like my apartment and my girlfriend. I like living in West Philly. In spite of the changing seasons, I'm not sure I feel the necessity or urge to disappear. Maybe I'll visit or take a short vacation. But until my life begins to unravel again, I don't know if I need to jump down the escape hatch.

I got a second root canal today. Interestingly, my roommate got a root canal this morning. We both had front-tooth root canals on the same day, and neither one of us minded much. He crashed a bicycle, too.

Restlessness Resolved.

There's something I'd like to say. Maybe now would be an appropriate time.

Meanwhile:
I still have the tendency to feel like a small mistake on a slowly-evolving and overly-detailed timeline. I can usually make an excuse about why, but last night I didn't have a good reason. Take a deep breath. Everything is alright. Great, in fact.

Last night. I managed to stand up and get out. I put a key in the ignition, got some money out of the ATM. I headed east. I forgot my iPod, and leaned heavily on Power 99FM. It was medicine. Running my mouth too much and sitting in a cushioned bowl of a chair was medicine. The therapy session included good friends and asinine radio DJs. I had a nice drive, and I felt better.

It's Tricycle Day!

I built the trike up yesterday; rode it around today.

I went to work early and turned up some music. I laid out loose components and plastic bags of parts. My workbench was clean and organized, and the trike began to come together. I attached the rear assembly with four large carriage bolts. I slid the rear axle out half way and slid it back through the bearing assemblies with the freewheel in place. I made double-sure I was putting the freewheel onto the adapter the right way, because if you goof that up, you need to destroy it to get it off.

Lastly, I bolted on the wheels and ran the front brake. My beautiful glossy black tricycle was together and ready.

Today, I attached the capacious rear basket. Today, a customer bought a new saddle and left the old one behind. I put the saddle on my trike with a longer seatpost, and I rode the whole thing home.

Don't take advantage of me, pls.

They spoke mostly French. She had a new boyfriend who I hadn't met. I was there because I'm a pushover with a valid driver's license. I didn't think the boyfriend spoke any English, since they weren't using any. I eventually learned he was from Africa somewhere; Ghana perhaps. We talked for a few sentences before his phone rang and he was able to talk to someone else.

Before tonight, it didn't sound bad. The way she explained it a week ago, it seemed like I could put a few bags of clothing in my van and take it a short distance away. It would take maybe an hour. I reflected upon this as I was a few hours deep in manual labor. The U-Haul office had my info on file, and I was driving a big truck to various corners of Philadelphia. The job description had expanded, and I was trying to convince myself to be amused.

Realistically, I didn't mind much. That's why I was there. I'm a guy who wants to help, and I don't mind much. Tonight was an example of how that can be stretched to the limits. I stood in the back of a U-Haul truck on north Broad Street thinking how glad I am that I don't own much and I don't live here.

Bad Movies, Good Memories, Designated Driving.

Several years ago, when I was in Key West, I adopted the policy of going out to watch every single movie that played on the island. I had a membership at the good theater, and I could sneak into the latest showings at the lame theater. I watched every single thing.

I had a policy. I would stop at Albertson's for a cheap shitty sandwich, but the beer would probably come from somewhere else. I would put on a long sleeve shirt and line the arms with many beers before marching right into the theater like I had somewhere to be. Nobody was ripping tickets for the latest showing - they'd already begun to clean. I saw dozens of free movies, and eventually built the confidence to help small groups of visiting friends get in for free. It became routine. Sneaking in half a case of beer was no longer strange, and spilling huge beers out of my sleeves was not much of a setback. Once an usher entered the theater quietly before the show. He looked like he was about to say something, so I frowned at him and punched my fists together loudly a few times. He looked away, and backed out of the room. I found myself watching the first movie in the Twilight series.

Since that night I've somehow managed to watch another of the movies in the Twilight series. Now there is a fourth, and I agreed to check show times and accompany Kristin to the movies. It was my plan, but she still apologized several times throughout the movie. It really was bad. They keep getting worse.

I'm not all sorts of drunk anymore. Not at all. But later at night, I joined my girlfriend again, and we went out to where drinking is the sole activity. Drinking and catching up with friends. For a novel change, I was made the designated driver, and I had the pleasure of listening to the new tUnE-yArds album as we cruised along back roads in her car. It was delightful. We were out late, and I managed to enjoy myself in the midst of, but not underneath, a pile of alcohol.

More deets on how I'm living.

This is how I'm living life: My room in West Philadelphia continues to be the best place ever. I still have no internet or TV. I have music, books, crochet, This American Life... stuff like that. Having an android phone allows for the streaming of This American Life and the occasional checking of email. I have just the right unobtrusive amount of inter-nest at home. Then, on my 4-day mid-week weekends, I head to Kennett Square and sleep at my parents house. They have food and a large amount of inter-nest. There is plenty of Kristin near Kennett, and I am comfortable in the big house with plenty of coffee. My mother has been knitting, and I am free to sound like a preachy jackass who squawks at every television program that my parents choose. They can't watch a simple television show without their mouthy son pointing out how it's bad for people. Parallel to this, I'm personally responsible for the furious depletion of their Keurig supplies.

Meanwhile:
I got a photo-txt this morning. The photo was of a box containing a Miami Sun trike. The caption was "Boom Shaka-laka." The time is nigh.

It's fun to say.

Regarding teeth. This morning I had one modified with an expensive dremel tool. It didn't take long, and now I can chew in a more proper and familiar manner. Next week I'm getting another root canal.

I drove over to the appointment because I have a van and I'm doing a lot of driving these days. I drove home after my morning appointment. Then me and my girlfriend went to get coffee.

I'm a Boyfriend

I'm a boyfriend. Of course I like Kristin. We've been hanging out near-constantly, and I could still handle more. I've already said un-jokingly that I'd prefer if she moved in. I see why it might possibly not be a good idea. It might be too soon. But I don't put much stock in much typical stuff, and I like having her around. She came over today after I was finished with work. She'd been working up the courage to talk with me about feelings. She likes me. Neither one of us has used the word "love," but that's the word in my mind. Or maybe I don't know what love is. Or maybe I know, and I'm quick too feel it. I think a concept like love is nebulous and subjective enough where we don't need to pin it down and focus a lens on it. You know it when you feel it. I know it when I kiss her face, and when I look at her. For right now, that's good. At this moment, I'm great. Only naturally unfolding time can reveal the future, but this moment is unfolding nicely. It didn't take much convincing to get me to agree to monogamous boyfriend terms.

Meeting Men in Bulletproof Bodegas

A nice looking young man eyed me up and down. His head nodded once slowly as he scanned down to my feet, and up again to the top of my head. He glanced sideways and took in the bicycle as well.

"Out of everything," he smiled; paused. "I like the sweatshirt the best."

"Out of everything," I thought to myself "I like getting attention from attractive young men the most."

Intoxicated by his innocent gaze, my mind drifted to an alternate plane. 

He was there for beer. He could have been there for lottery tickets or blunt wraps, but I'd bet he walked out with six tall blue ribbons. He didn't look bad himself. Maybe a few years younger with a dark few-weeks-old beard. He stood with a calm confidence, and I knew that he wouldn't steal my wallet.

I didn't say anything. I stepped toward him - two long paces - and stood with my face almost touching his. I reached out to touch his shoulder and moved my hand down slowly along his back. I pulled him toward me and kissed his mouth forcefully.

"You're fucking right, you like this sweatshirt."

Ordering a brand new Miami Sun Trike

Two days ago, I ordered a Miami Sun adult-tricycle. Sometimes a guy's gotta treat himself. Sometimes a guy's gotta get a new trike. The Miami Sun is a classic upright chain-driven design in a time when most three-wheelers are going recumbent. This trike is an adult tricycle; straight-up. A beautiful machine. After some contemplation, I decided to go with a black frame. One of the many other colors would seem to have been the obvious choice, but I think my decision was wise. This trike will be with me for the long haul, and it can expect to be heavily decorated. The trike will arrive as a humble blank canvas, and I will immediately adorn it with nonsense. When the trike needs color, I will find creative ways to add it. I will crochet it a sweater. I will chronicle this.

Three days ago, I was looking at eBay. A fantastic Worksman industrial trike was going for $110 with a Buy-It-Now. The fork was bent to oblivion, but that would be easy for me to replace for maybe $20. Best of all, it had what looked like a small church pew affixed to the back. The buyer would have to pick it up locally, but even that was not a deal breaker - it would be a mere three or four hour drive according to Google Maps... and I have just the van. I hemmed and hawed, and eventually missed my chance. By the time I went back to the auction with the intention to buy-it-then, it was gone. Someone else got it. I hope that person knows how to replace a fork - the auction didn't mention the damage, but it was visible in the pictures if you know how to look.

I was so disappointed at the missed opportunity that the only way I could console myself was to buy a brand new trike. I knew the Miami Sun was the logical choice. It's cheap and cheerful, and repair parts are readily available. Knowing I am able to replace the rear axle for $22 instills confidence. If the back end gets hit by a bazooka, I'm out maybe forty bucks.



The trike was a great deal. Bicycle mechanics like me have access to anything from the wholesale catalogs at cost. The brand new trike will cost me less than twenty-year-old used ones are regularly sold for. If you want to twist my arm, I'll tell you: I will pay $234.95. MSRP is $399. Of course, I will spend a little over an hour assembling the trike from the box. Contractually, a bicycle shop cannot sell pre-assembled bicycles because of [highly reasonable] liability concerns. But I'm a mechanic with plenty of free time. Hoopty-do.

I got a car-ride to work today. Kristin dropped me off. I gave her some money, and she came back to the shop with one of those boxes of coffee from Dunkin' Donuts. The "Box O' Joe." I would continue drinking this coffee out of little paper cups for three days - nuking each cup in the microwave after the box went cold.

Make-Your-Own Party

I went to a party at Shelly/Arden's apartment. I'm so happy to have these friends. I'm so happy with my close proximity to these humans. And the dog.

The theme was make-your-own pizza. I brought Kristin and she showed me how friendly people are supposed to smile and behave. Being sober is still a challenge at gatherings like this. I feel alienated and aloof. I'm not the goofy-silly person I've been trying so hard to dress like. I'm not exuding the same energy as the caricature of myself in my head. I once did. I don't know if that energy will find me again. Now I'm a bit less wild and a bit more of a silliness enthusiast. Wild in theory. A quiet connoisseur of the off-kilter.

I stood with a jar of water and saved the wine and liquor for the others. It's not that I didn't have a good time. It's that I had to be eased into the boiling kettle slowly with slightly squinted eyes. I didn't have the luxury of a six-Bud-Ice head start. I couldn't simply dive in. It's all in my head. I know that.

Pictures from my Bicycle Trip

I'm not much of a photo-taker, but I took some pictures on my trip. Here's a link to all of them. I like about 15-20 out of these 300 or so. I also don't take pictures of a lot of wonderful classic moments, opting instead to save them for myself and not be the doofus with a camera. Some of the moments when I felt like a camera would have been an inappropriate intrusion on the moment would have provided the most interesting pictures later. So you won't see some of the best stuff. But look how tan I got.


https://plus.google.com/photos/106199795873150990678/albums/5675794132939671377#photos/106199795873150990678/albums/5675794132939671377

Americans eat lunch.

I woke up early enough to drive home in time. I arrived at home before my mom left to visit my Aunt Pam in Lancaster. I signed myself up to go along, and I brought an iPod to DJ the drive and some green yarn to keep cranking out crochet'n flag #2.

We all had lunch and visited craft and yarn stores. Mom got me several skeins of brightly colored yarn and a couple different crochet hooks. This is America. This is the 90's.

Bright Flags and Silliness.

I finished the bright pink Tibetan prayer flag. Crochet'n Pray Flags. That's the working title of this project. I started a Kermit-green flag, and I have an aim to use every yarn I can find to make more and more flags until something tells me I'm done. Bright colors first.

Her folks were out of town. I didn't ask questions, I just drove over there and parked my big nasty van in the driveway. Silliness ensued, and soon there were snacks and some dancing. Pens and paper, pens and paper, pens and paper.

Sex, Root Canals, and Eyeglasses.

Morning sex is a good way to show up late for a root canal. The root canal wasn't fun this time. Last time I was desperate to have teeth. This time I already sort of had teeth, so I was free to be mentally indignant about all the fooling around with the inside of my mouth.

I thought this would be the last appointment. I was disappointed to learn that this tooth business is an ongoing project. I still need some kind of temporary crown, and then a real crown. Worse yet, young Dr. Young believes that I have more nerve damage that will require a second root canal on the other damaged tooth. We'll reassess this next week.

More sex made up for the bad news. Morning coffee made me sing the graces of my charmed life.

I drove to Kennett Square where a small bubble-wrap package contained two sets of eyeglasses. Two weeks ago, I went on the internet with my prescription in hand. I got the cheapest and most bombastically colorful spectacles on the website. $24.90 covered two sets of prescription specs plus shipping. Now I have glasses with bright yellow frames and quite-large lenses. I'm adding more color. Bright color everywhere. I want to bathe in neon colors right before I fall asleep.

Crochet, Lentils, People, Calm Dogs.

Arden tries to show me how to crochet a hat. I make a janky circle that curls up and looks like a dead flower. I need an on-call extreme crochet expert. I need to have this person on salary. Dinner was lentil soup and salad stuff. I was happy to be at a kitchen table with actual food. I was happy to sit on an actual couch around people who I like. And a dog.

Kristin stopped by after work. I introduced everyone. There was a mug of tea before we retired to my place and made a night of it.

Coffee Shops and Prayer Flags.

I sat in the corner of the coffee shop with big yarn. I have some big green yarn, and I started making loops and chains. I leaned back, crooked my head to the side to stretch, and I scooted forward on my chair. I took a drink from my warm and unnecessary coffee. I slouched again and began making loops and chains. The Pixies played in the background, and I wondered how the other people here weren't at a bar instead. The sun was long-since set. The sun was a memory. It was 9:40pm, and this place would be closed in twenty minutes. I stretched out my arm further than my coffee mug to stretch another muscle. I stretched out my legs and locked my kneecaps. I started making loops and chains with a 5.5mm crochet hook. Big green yarn. Tan coffee. Did these other people quit drinking too? Why aren't these people drunk? It's perverse.

It's 9:45pm and the temperature of my coffee is plummeting. I'm sitting on a wooden chair overhearing the words of others like the buzz from a distant table saw. I answer my phone and tell Dave where the coffee shop is.

Dave sits across from me, and he's not wearing a smile. He gets a coffee and we sit silently. Nobody needs this coffee, and that is my thought as he drops a fat black notebook onto the table. I sip cold coffee. I start making loops and chains.

Me and Dave head to my place where the lighting and music and atmosphere are under control. He mentions weed about three times, and that sets me to smoking a little bit.

I have a string of three Tibetan prayer flags that I found in the middle of Main Street in Newark Delaware. There should be a fourth flag, but the yellow one was torn out. Now there is a gap. As Dave and I talk about how good or not life is, I pick up a finished square of orange crochet. As we discuss the merits of life and dating and friends, I use bits of yarn to affix the orange replacement flag in the gap left by the missing yellow flag.

Dave takes the captain's chair and begins selecting music. His selections are fed through stiff little wires to my tall wooden JBLs. I sit on the bed and look at my skein of dead-grass yarn. I pick up a pretty pink instead, and begin a new chain. I hold my work up to one of the Tibetan prayer flags and chain out a length to match the bottom of the flag. I start working backwards, and soon I am flipping my work and making a bright pink flag.

Bonfires and how I'm not drinking.

My teeth are starting to hurt a hell of a lot less. I've had major issues with some bad pain. It's been made worse by some less-than-optimal shaping of my new front tooth. I can't chew on the right side. And no matter what I do, that tooth is likely to get chomped into my bottom tooth and send my mouth into a world of hurt.

I sat around a bonfire. A friend in West Chester who I don't see too often sometimes has bonfire parties at her parents' house. There was a ton of drinking and I'm barely ready to handle being around that. It's not that I wanted to drink - I didn't even want to - but I also didn't want to be around it. Or maybe I did want to drink, but recognized what a pointless stupid decision that would be. The truth is buried somewhere inbetween those two options.

I sat out in the cold air with my feet propped up by the fire. I existed. I looked at myself, felt the cold air on my skin, and I definitely existed. Then I exited.

Crochet goals.

At this point, I can crochet the hell out of a dishcloth. My stitches are even, and I'm moving pretty quick. I got a book with patterns for making amigurumi animals and foods. The cover of the book shows a tiny cheeseburger made with crochet and stuffing. It's cute; it's beautiful. Now I have a goal: I need to practice until I'm crazy-proficient at crocheting intricate foods. I'll get there. I taught myself how to fix bicycles and build wheels -- the cheeseburger is in the bag. 

Good plans and looking bad on paper.

Maybe I'll start a savings plan. Maybe I'll go back to college and/or get a job that involves something that actually matters or something that I care about. Perhaps with those savings I will do something like buy a simple-tiny-humble-efficient Tumbleweed Home. It's a good path with rewarding results. I could be proud of that, and it's a reasonable and achievable goal for someone like myself. That's one way to go. It would be extremely sensible, in fact.

The combination of Not Drinking and this college/money/house talk might make me seem more marketable in the dating sense. Or at least less like a Terrible Candidate.

I'm going to drive to Key West soon. I'll be there for awhile. And I just quit drinking. Those are two things that make me think I'm not ready to burst into a new official relationship. I was surprised to realize this myself. If I had the opportunity a month ago, I'd have signed all of the official boyfriend documents and considered myself the luckiest man alive. But I've been kept at arm's length for awhile now. I've been warned, explained to, and kept at bay.

I'm the same guy I was. Drunk smash-tooth Chris is the same Chris that might surprisingly not ruin his own life. I'm the same guy. I get it. I totally understand why dating an alcoholic who wants nothing more than to live in a van forever is not a great idea. Looks bad on paper. Part of me is that guy. But the same flesh also covers something that might not self destruct.

Also, to be clear: living in a van is totally boss.

I'll be an uncle yet.

My sister is going to have a baby. There's some time before that happens, but I found this out today. I can't imagine any news that could make me happier. I love my sister, I love Karl, and my family is all pretty great. This is great.

Mushroom tea and touching.

It's a good thing I don't have a drug problem. Booze is out, but funny drugs like weed and mushrooms still have a place at my table. In moderation. Which has never been a problem with that stuff.

We drank a little bit of mushroom tea and made some clouds of smoke. There was calm music as we laid on my warm bed. My feelings are adamant. We looked at each other, and a gentle touch was better than words.

I'm calling it "quitting" now.

I'm calling it "quitting" now. I've been saying stuff like "dialing it back" and "taking a break." But I'm not drinking anymore, and once again I'm going for the goal of forever. I sorta get the picture with where drinking gets me. I've gone though the cycles enough times to make this rigmarole predictable. The cost-benefit analysis is complete. I obviously have no business around alcohol. Unless I have no ambition. But I've been thinking about it, and it seems like I still have ambition. I have a weird and skewed version of the typical American ambition. But I'm all in. Time to float in a general healthier direction. Time to try and accidentally figure something out.

Peppermint tea and brain health.

Changes.

I got some peppermint tea. Somehow that's symbolic to me. It symbolizes me trying to be good to myself. Stay calm. When I make peppermint tea I'm trying to take care of my brain.

I'm not saying I have anxiety anymore. Now I'm "restless." It sounds less medical, and is probably closer to an accurate depiction. People who are restless at least want to go somewhere. It's a word that hints at ambition. I'm re-framing the way I look at and refer to my general recurring malaise. It's healthy like peppermint tea.

Hobbies, interests... careers.

Not drinking. It's gotten a bit easier, as it does, and my appetite for alcohol seems to be gone. For now. I'm not fooled. Hopefully this dry spell will allow me some time for personal growth. I've been reading. I read "Rule of the Bone," which I borrowed from my roommate. I can't recommend that book enough.

My teeth hurt, and I think I might be getting tired of working on bicycles. I tend to get burnt out pretty easily when I'm doing the same thing for a long time. I'm thinking about finding a new niche. I'm not turning over any big boulders to find one, but it's on my mind. Hobbies, interests... careers. I'm thinking about personal growth and change.

TV and fake fires.

Watched some SNL special and was reminded what watching TV is like. Haven't been watching that much TV recently. At all. It's a not-so-subtle sort of brainwash.

Pens and paper, pens and paper.

I had someone sitting next to me, and the fake fireplace at my folks's house was nice and warm. Monogamy is boss. I don't know if I have any agreement on that. I'm doing great. None of this really matters.

Normalizing and a root canal.

Yesterday was a tough birthday. I walked around in a haze trying to figure out where Kyler locked up my trike for me last night. I tried to retrace my steps, and I didn't find it. I've been wasted and hurting myself for weeks. I have multiple injuries which I barely remember, and last night could have been a lot worse. Goddamn it. I came to the hazy realization that I needed to take a day off. At least. At least one sober day. I'm killing myself. Not. Fucking. Easy. Shit.

I drove to Kennett with my tail between my legs, and couldn't manage to show my parents how my mouth looked without feeling embarrassed and bawling about it. My teeth. My stupid brain. My situations.

That was yesterday. Today I filled out the forms at the Community Dental Clinic at Temple University. I sat like a fruit bag wrapped in a rainbow and filled out forms.

"How much do you drink?" - a lot.
"Do you use any other drugs?" - Weed. Mushrooms sometimes.
"Are you recovering from any drugs or alcohol?" - Trying to quit alcohol.

There were other questions on the forms as well, but none of them seemed to apply to me.

I was seated on the long chair as young Dr. Young reviewed my forms.

"Trying to quit alcohol?" she tilted her head and looked at me to confirm. "How long has it been?"

"I... didn't drink yesterday..." I looked at my shoelaces and answered like I was the one with a question.

"THAT'S A GOOD START!"

[Her enthusiasm consumes me. I feel like a fucking idiot laid out here. I have no idea who I am or what I'm doing, but I feel like a moron, and I have a weird little twitch that I've developed since the bicycle trip, and I'm trying not to twitch all over the place, but I'm sure sweating a lot, and I'm emotional and trying not to twitch or start crying.]

They worked on my teeth right there. I was x-ray'd and laid out. I needed a root canal on one of the teeth, and they'd get right to work. As soon as I said I had money, and please do it right, we got started. My mom wouldn't have me walking around with fangs, and the fact that I was laying in a long vinyl chair was more than a small relief. I wanted it fixed. I will pay her back if/when/how/something.

Needles went in, and smoking bits of bone sprayed out of my mouth. I watched the whole thing and I didn't twitch or move a muscle. A strange part of me enjoyed getting the root canal right up to the part where they jam little toothpicks through your gums and up into your eyeballs. Some fillings and material were molded on, shaped and filed. Technically, the new teeth look better than the old ones. I'd like the old ones back, thanks, but the new ones certainly beat the fangs. I'll go back in about two weeks for the remainder of the root canal. I'm not sure how that works.

Kristin came over again. I probably wasn't at my most fun last night. I'm reasonably well detoxed by now. By that I mean I can think clearly and my brain is recognizing my surroundings as reality. I've been beside reality for awhile, and I'm a little bit humbled to admit that I didn't realize a couple days without drinking might remind me what reality is and how normal should feel. That's how I am now. I'm normal enough and feeling a cozy sort of lucid. Yup. I'll be fine. Always okay.

I'm always excited to see her. Differences be damned and ignored. I'm so relieved to have someone to lean on and be okay with. Maybe forever, maybe not forever if something fucks up between us. If someone decides the other person isn't worth it, then it's fucked. But I like this girl, and I dislike drama. I'm blessed and relieved to have this person in my life and frequently beside me for right now.

Happy 29th Birthday

Happy 29th Birthday. Both of your sweatshirts and your hat made it home. The trike is gone. You destroyed the fork and you have no idea where you left it. You have a vague recollection of seeing chunks of your front teeth on the trunk of a Mercedes. You tossed them into the weeds.

Your teeth are fucked. You had good teeth with a nice gap, and now you have fangs.

Walk around in a trance. Laugh about it. Come close to crying. Be scared that your alcoholism is getting away from you.

Scott got a small carrot cake for you. It has your name on it and some candles. You can thank god that everything is almost all okay.