Thursday, March 4, 2010

The Blackout Journal

Him and I go way back. I'm guessing eight or nine years. It's just a guess because some of those years are a little undefined. Like red lipstick on the mouth of a woman who has smoked cigarettes all her life, the years feather and bleed.

And he's probably my best friend. The last time I saw him, he was standing on the beach while I waded thigh deep into the cold waters of the Pacific Ocean, scattering the remains of my husband. Because he lives about 250 miles away, our visits have to be planned. We make the plans all the time and inevitably cancel them. I have three kids. He has three jobs. It's just easier to think about taking a trip than actually taking the trip.

We hadn't spoken in a couple of weeks so I was happy to get his call last night. And then he told me about his latest project. He is writing a Blackout Journal.

Blackout Journal.

It's like a food journal if you were trying to lose weight, except it's a journal to catalogue his actions and thoughts before alcohol erases it from his memory.

7:30 PM - Half pint of Jim Beam gone.

He's had some trouble in the past when it comes to moderation. He's sort of an all or nothing kind of guy. Ain't no half-steppin'. His obsessions have consequences. Like the time he called me and told me there was a goose lose in his apartment.

8:04 PM - Kicking ass in the Texas Hold'em Championship. Fuck yes! Plus two beers!!

It's compromised his choice in women as well. Like the girlfriend who sat in his bed all day, nesting. Just sitting. On his bed. All day. We called her Gurpy Bird. Or the girlfriend who sprayed bear stopper in my house while I was pregnant causing a total evacuation of the premises.

8:33 PM - Called G. Jim almost gone.

8:46 PM - G tells funny story about her vibrratur. Viberatur. Vibra. Buzzing thing.

8:51 PM - Beer. G not happy.

He can be poetic and artistic. He's a great cook. Political. Hard working. Likes punk and Gang Starr. Previously obsessed with palindromes ("Rats live on no evil star"). He's the kind of guy you want on your side in a fist fight and in a debate. His IQ is 143.

9:03 PM - Jim Beam numero dos. Remind G that my IQ is two points higher.

9:15 PM - Call 2morrow. Fading.

9:16 PM - Love

5 comments:

Elly Lou said...

Beautiful and perfect imagery with that lipstick, lady. Twenty points to you.

Also, I just changed my plans about opening that bottle of wine. *sigh* That's gonna make it dangerous to be chocolate around here.

Miss Spoken said...

Elly Lou - Drink your wine, honey. You're all good.

Eternally Distracted said...

lovely jubbly post!

Wicked Shawn said...

Always a fine line between brilliance and train wreck.....every great artist, author, scientist. The genius drives the madness, the need for escape to the alcohol or drugs, the crutch. The post, the Journal, the symolism......*sigh* I am going to go suck on a bottle of Jack and throw paint at my kids.... I feel smarter just for deciding to do it

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