Ode to the glass

The glass is dirty. From my grubby hands holding it, drink after drink. Memory after memory.

Yet it doesn’t mind. And it still does it’s job. Transferring the whiskey from the bottle to the glass with ice and then entering my mouth. Where it will go to my liver, further shrinking its usefulness.

That’s what I like about a glass. It does it’s job until it’s broken. And when it’s broken, you throw it away. You can’t glue it back together, it just won’t work the same way.

Wonder if a heart is the same?

You think it’s healed but really, is it ever? You can move on to someone else. Move on to someplace else. But your heart, it can stay behind. That’s what happens when you give it to someone, right? You’ve taken it out of your chest.

Fuck, that’s depressing.

Speaking of … I tend to wonder if I’ll die of liver disease one day…My dad is a drunk. He has a liver of steel. I was told my grandfather (dad’s dad) was a drunk. He died because he was too damn stubborn to go to a doctor.

It all sounds so damn familiar to me. Like a song that only has one memory attached to it. You could hear this song every day of your life, before that day, and after that day. But no matter what, it will remind you of just that day. Life’s like that. And there’s not much you can do about it.

Except tilt the bottle down, pour it into the glass, clink the new ice in and take a swig.

To many that sounds like a cop out.

Others see it as a need.

I’m in between those two places. Which means I’m just no good at making decisions. I can go weeks without a drink, and then weeks with one every night. There are good nights when I’m all happy and content. And of course, there are nights I black out and don’t remember whether or not a friend is still a friend anymore.

It think that’s why I keep looking for new music. If you’ve never heard a song, it can’t remind you of the past. It’s not from there. But, that’s the biggest lie I tell myself every night. A song just wraps itself around whatever the hell it wants. You have no part in this dance. That’s why an album I downloaded last night takes me back to 2000. It just does.

And one I bought two weeks ago reminds me of 2005.

And one I listened to as a high school runt puts me in college. Whichever time it feels like on that day.

Why? Maybe I don’t ever evolve. I just stagnate. Thinking too much about the past, not enough about the present. The future? Yeah, I used to plan things. But they never come true.

Shit, maybe that’s the solution. Plan to Nic Cage myself. I’ll fail at it right?

But I once said the only thing I can’t fail at is failure, so if you plan to fail what happens?

It’s like this fucking awful goatee I’m growing. Technically, I’m just not cutting it, the body itself is growing it. I know that most folk find it kind of silly. Maybe even frightening. Me? I just like being able to do what the old guys used to do in Kung Fu movies with it. Stroke it while “thinking” or right before letting out a long, ear-piercing chortle.

It also makes me look my age.

I considered signing up for a dating site today. Just to see what happens. You get the free profile set up, and then it sends you “matches”. So, after considering, I did it.

I was matched with lots of ugly people. Lots of people with “kids at home but separateds.” Even more folks with a high school education.

Sorry, I need someone who likes to read. And most of the folk I was matched with, they’d say “really don’t like to read, or no time to read.”

Fuck that. I like to read. And I do it. Lately, I’ve been taking books to work and reading there.

Thank god I got that from mom. That and being the shyest M’fer in the world.

I hate being bitter. I’m not a fucking lemon.

But I’ve let myself become this shell of a human.

And it hurts.

I like watching the rain.

I enjoy driving.

Bands still get my heart racing.

So do redheads.

And apparently, so does a good bottle of whiskey.