Monday, July 17, 2006
Strange. Whenever I hear this song, which isn't often, it gets me all mixed up. Last year, I was in the thick of the abs&boobs wakeboarding show. I was coming to terms with losing my mother. In short, I was a mess. I drank too much, I smoked too much, I drove to places where the pencil dropped on the map and when I reached my destinations, I drank and smoked until I shoveled myself back into my rental car and then drove back only to find myself parked in alleyways, killing time, cellphone at the ready to call the tried and true back home. I was desperately lonely and awe-fully alone. I went to church twice, spent whole afternoons pounding my fists into the soft earth of summerfallow fields near St. Malo. I watched from a parking lot behind an abattoir as other people, happier people, innertubed down the Red River. I aged ten years in one month. I grew up on the spot. I sped and was caught by camera's glare four times. I stood outside in a downpour so heavy it was like the city was driving through a carwash. I marked the receding mudlines of the Assiniboine as it boiled down. I found solace in rhubarb pie and turkey sausages made by solemn Mennonites in white lace bonnets. I dropped weight like I was diseased. And I was.
And yet when I hear that song, it makes me want to do it all over again. Strange.
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