Nothing Helps the Healing Process Better Than a Little Blunt Force Trauma
Not much of a secret that I�m a little pissed. The election, or what passed for one, has left me with a bad taste in my mouth, questioning my sanity and an entire montage of other descriptive terms to clarify my state of mind. I�ve written my little heart out over the subject and had a few objective conversations with the �winning� party members over why this came to be, not only to gain other perspectives of the matter, but just to try and get everything out in the open and to simply understand.
Why all of this has helped me cope with the reality I�nay�we are all facing a decision was made to do a little dirty dive bar hopping to sink down with the masses and drink our cares away in a non threatening and a no politics allowed environment, in an attempt to wash my soul clean of the wretched feelings I have. I attacked this mission with gusto, seeing friends I�ve only see or talk to in bars that question my MIA status over the past month only briefly before the conversation switched gears and we ran the gauntlet of drunk topics only found in such locales. Beer was consumed, in ever dizzying quantities and the memories flood back�
The woman at the trivia machine who spilled her guts in five seconds flat to a new friend about how miserable her life was, how much of a piece of shit her husband was all the while dispensing bills for the game and even more to load up my friend with libations. �Oh god�, she groaned, �I can�t believe I married that asshole, what was I thinking!� On and on it went until our friend couldn�t take the dialogue anymore and slipped away into the night.
The Arian nation was thrown out of the establishment by a tiny bartender as she chided them, �You know the rules, no more than two skinheads are allowed in here at a time.� When they protested, claiming that only two of five were actually drinking another co-worker arrived and calmly advised, �come on fellas, it�s not like this is new information, drink in shifts or don�t drink at all.� They of course left in a huff with half-hearted threats and protests and as they slunk outside I heard one of them proclaim, �this places sucks anyway, lets go find somewhere else to drink�� I am uncertain where swastika sporting rabble can go to consume libations in a peaceful environment, but I here Idaho is nice this time of year.
Things, as all things do, came to an end and a high speed dash in my colleague�s Swedish tank (Volvo) to the homestead came and went without incident. On our way to the front door, we giggled laughed and finally sprinted along reveling in our merriment and that is when things took a turn. In my glee and giddiness, I failed to negotiate the last turn in the cement brick road, lost control of my feet and much to the amusement of my trailing homeboy, went flying into nothingness only to come crashing down moments later.
I could have landed on my ass, a fitting end to the night if you will. Or I might have thrown out various limbs to break my fall resulting in sprains or fractured bones. And I even could have managed to pull off a gymnastic like tumbling move and bounce back up without missing a beat with a cry of �take that Mary Lou Rettin!� I, of course, smashed head first into the sidewalk instead. My friend was on me in an instant slurring concern as I rose to my feet with a sheepish grin and an exclamation of, �damn dude, that kind of hurt� before meandering into my abode.
My head trauma was an area of great concern, as I�m prone to concussions you see. If I were to ever have a boxing career it would be the best three and one half seconds of my life until I were to take that first right hook to my noggin. I was propped up in my super couch, a brew held in my right an ice pack pressed to my temple clutched firmly in my left. And as my friend puttered in the kitchen making after hours gut bomb to quell our rumbling stomachs he constantly muttered allowed, �can�t let him fall asleep�won�t ever wake up�blunt force trauma�can�t�let�him�sleep.� True to his word and our long term friendship, we stayed up late into the morning, munching on our goods and making jovial remarks about the movie spinning merrily away in the DVD player or sometimes muttering about nothing at all. At some point, I slipped into sleep, but not before leaving candles burning, lights shining and the oven still on. You would think that such things would be of grievous concern and highly detrimental to our living ways, but sometimes keeping a concussion prone person awake all night take precedence over such trivial details.
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and today I awake, with a lump the size of a golf ball crowning my head and fast fading memories of a night spent in dive bar heaven. I find it rather amusing that the angst and turmoil have dissipated with the rising sun and I have nary a care about such things as politics, global conflicts and budget deficits. My worries have been washed away.
It may go without saying, but for clarification, I�ll say it anyway�have you ever heard someone exclaim, �I need that like I need a hole in the head!� What I think they one and all meant to say was, �I really just need a blow to the head.�
Blunt Force Trauma � 1
George Bush�s Amerika - 0
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