yoda band-aids

I opened up my medicine cabinet to grab a band-aid. As I had just pulled off a mole from my chest. It is bleeding quite a bit. As soon as I do, the electric beard trimmer on top of the cabinet falls. In horror, I watch it bound from the sink, off the floor and splash, right into the toilet. Glug. Glug. Glug. It slowly sinks into the bowl. I swiftly grab it before it completely goes under, not worrying whether or not I flushed the commode last night or not. It’s soaked. I give it a good shake, tossing toilet water all over the bathroom, once again without concern to its sanitaryness or not. I look down at it. I turn the switch, it works. Hopefully it was a salvage job gone well.

Immediately I notice the blood on my fingers. Yep, still bleeding. I grab the box of band-aids. They are Star Wars band-aids that I bought years ago. When I had a steady girlfriend. She thought it was cute of me. I believe she used those exact words. I pull a Yoda band-aid out. Stick it on my chest. It turns that blood brown color immediately. Never a good idea to cut off moles. Still have a scar on my face from when I did it as a teenager. Still the only time I’ve used a real razor to shave. Pretty silly, really. But, I tend to stick to my guns. Better or worse.

I look at my reflection in the mirror. Gray hair dominates my body now. I look a lot older than my years. But, I figure I’ve done enough to deserve it. That band-aid looks silly among the white chest hairs. I have a slight flashback moment to another girlfriend. And me putting one of those band-aids, a Boba Fett one, on her 3 year old kid. He and I used to watch Star Wars. He liked it. So, I did two good things for that kid. One, I potty-trained him when mom and dad didn’t have the patience or skills to do so, and two, I introduced him to Star Wars. I wonder if he ever got those clothes I bought him for his fourth birthday? I got them the day she left me. I gave them to her mom. Probably not, I’d venture to say.

Neil Young’s “American Stars and Bars” blasts out of my stereo. It’s not the best album to listen to when one is a little down on life. But it isn’t the worst either. Neil is one of the few who will be with me from the moment I discovered him until the day I die. Lots of bands and singers and song writers come into one’s life. Many latch on and never let go. Many latch on and are pushed aside rather quickly. Some just fade into the vagueness of alcohol-tainted memories, coming back into your life when you least expect it. Kind of like people nowadays.

I miss the days when you wondered where people were. Now, they’re on the internet somewhere staring you in the face or poking your existence. Very few people just stay gone. It makes pining less appealing, really. So, maybe it’s not all bad.

For years, I wondered what happened to two women from my past. I use the term woman lightly here, because one was just a girl when she was in my life, and me just a boy. The other, we were teenagers. Well, Facebook has brought both of them back into my consciousness. I saw a photo of one, the girl from long, long ago. She looks the same. Just older. I can still wonder if she has any idea who I was or am, however, as she hasn’t reached to me, and me not to her.

On the other hand, today I got an e-mail from an old friend from the teen angst years. The only girl I ever really dug during that time. Always been a picky, and very fixated person. This kind of put me in a strange place. I guess I used to ask for this day to happen. But I always thought, well back in the days before such things as the internet, that we’d bump into each other in an airport or a restaurant and rekindle whatever it was we didn’t have then. The movies are full of such great moments. And I didn’t want it to be a “You’ve Got Mail” moment.

But, then I start to think, why be such a fucking pessimist? Why think it’s bad. It’s evil. It’s unromantic. Hell, it probably isn’t any of those things. It is interesting.

Crafting the right reply isn’t easy. Although it is. I also tend to overanalyze everything. It’s my nature. My curse. My way. My whatever.

I have been looking for the happy ending my entire life. So many interrupted dreams and such that have just stopped and never had that restart. Well, except for one time, and that was just weird and horrible. I’ve always believed in fate. Always believed in things working out. Yet, here I go, expecting things before there should be expectations. Does that even make sense? How did this turn into a blog entry instead of a writing one?

I’m distractible. I’m crazy. I’m weird. I’m lazy. I’m bored. I’m happy. I’m sad. I’m lonely. I’m a misanthrope. I am curious, however. And that’s always good.

Wow. This is just sad and awful. And hopeful and crazy. Be careful what you ask for, right? You just might get it one day.