I stood at the corner of the pool table, cue in hand, watching as he took aim for his shot. I was thinking to myself how crazy it would be if, somehow, the cue ball were to jump off the table and come toward me, and if I'd have the necessary reflexes to catch such a wild shot.
Apparently, I do not possess such reflexes, despite my random day dreams of suddenly knowing martial arts, and being able to use such martial arts in case the bad guys decide to attack me at some point in my mundane day.
Instead, the ball careened wildly off the table, and flew directly into a knuckle on my right hand, which actually hurt quite a bit at the time.
I responded with, "don't you know how important my right hand is to me right now?" while I bowed over in pain, rubbing my hand furiously.
We laughed for a good while, despite my pain.
I suppose standing next to the pocket that one's friend is aiming for is typically never a good idea, especially when that friend has a powerful shot.
...
I've been going to the bar quite often these last two weeks... I suppose that's what one does upon finding themselves single again, or at least what this guy does, or perhaps used to do on a regular basis, before finding himself in a relationship.
Though, I've definitely toned things down.
I find myself going out around 7 or 8, not the obligatory after 10:30 at night. And now I find myself having some sort of dinner alongside the couple of pints I will ingest, not the stale-ass popcorn and numerous, upon numerous drinks I used to consume. I will now leave before 10:30, slowly becoming one of the people I tended to scoff at in my younger days.
I'm also beginning to understand the value of happy hour specials, having made a conscious decision to limit my spending on such things as booze. Considering how little I make from my job, and the vast amount of dollars I've spent on booze in my past, well, better late than never I suppose. I try not to think about it, honestly.
Sometimes I think bars should have an "Angry" hour special, probably at some point later in the evening, when people's chances for meeting someone have slimmed to nothingness, or perhaps when people realize they must go off to bed soon, and thus face the new day...
Just a thought.
...
While I've enjoyed the last two nights of going out considerably, having gone out with old friends that I used to drink quite heavily with back in the day, I've left each time feeling optimistic, yet slightly saddened each time.
I feel good about bonding with these old friends, spending time with them again, feeling the man-love so to speak. Remembering old glories of our drinking days, stories of the crazy nights and our crazy antics we seem to tell and retell over and over again.
I got sad though, as I walked home. One of them is engaged to be married; the other having just gotten married over a month or two ago...
Its not that I'm unhappy for myself, having things go the way they did. Perhaps, to be honest, slightly yes. At one point we were sort of all in this together, each of us moving towards the fateful day, each of us nearly at the same time, finally getting married... More so it is just that things have changed, things are changing still, each of us has changed, priorities are shifting, soon, so soon we will drift apart further. Soon there will be no new stories to create, or at least, I will not be a part of them, as they start their new married lives.
I'm sorry, I'm woolgathering.
A slight pity party, as my friend C. would say. "Don't invite me."
I'm grateful for them, to have them in my life still. And I'm happy for them, that they've found that happiness in someone else. Sometimes I just miss having the old crew around. I couldn't have gotten through some of the harder times in my life without them.
To Sc. when a six pack of Miller High Life and a game of darts, listening to old cock rock records in his basement which suddenly we took seriously (Boston, ACDC, Journey, Loverboy), or nights out to Club Foot to play pool meant the world to me, saved us during that year in Chicago.
To S. when night after night we'd go to The Bar, complain about the ladies, drink way too much, and talk about how after our deaths we'd have our bodies cast in bronze and would have them place our statues at the same booth we'd sit in night after night. Or nights on his porch, hitting the heavy bag, or just yelling at passerby's, or all the crazy shit we'd do...
I'm glad their still around these parts to check up on me, though I don't get to see them that often.
All right, feeling too emotional, gotta stop writing now...
