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.