Beach notes

So, somehow this became the morning of the day that I would once again begin to develop my course for writing. Yes, it is because I got fairly drunk last night (polishing off a case of beer with some friends, half a bottle of Evan Williams and a little of the finer enhancements which make the day that much more tolerable).

Throughout the night as I was writhing around with the extra weight of my gut rumbling, my mind began to wonder as it usually does in the wee hours of the morning to a more complicated scheme.

What I came up with, what I am trying to type out, is that I need to take the moments as they come and attempt to actually document them, remember them as they were and move on to the next episode.

The biggest thing that I need to try to avoid on a more personal note is that I really find myself unable to really get out there and really just get fucked up, no matter how much I actually drink. This is especially disheartening information for me to admit because that would lead to the assumption that there might be something more consequential than just lacking the buzz. Especially when you bleed out of your ass!

But then again, I live in the richest country in the world and do not have any health insurance. So, I just keep moving on, moving forward with the assumption that I will someday soon have health insurance and be able to afford to go to a doctor and go through the rigorous tests which really cost much more than they should, only to be told, you need to quit eating, drinking and smoking.

If only it were that easy. It is important to maintain friendships and most of the friendships that I have developed are through the magic of drunken experience. I do not and cannot become like my father—the guy everyone drinks with that quits drinking. Then I would have to become a Christian conservative and I would rather just shoot myself in the fucking head and be sent into the dust pile that I am bound to become than do that.

The Health effects on the lifestyle cannot be ignored—I am fat and need to be thinner given the status of my ankle fusion. If for no other reason, quitting is because I want to be the fit person that I enjoy being—but I enjoy getting fucked up as well and the latter always seems to win. It takes more time to recover from a binge than it does a workout.

Shame, really.

So, the reason for this promptness of journal writing is due to the fact that I am at Neil’s beach house on Long Beach, Washington. Each time that I come here I always feel the need to get into the writing mode and push something creative out, but there was never an opportunity with all these other people that were here. This weekend, this weekend is probably the only opportunity that I will have to use this space to design some time away from the group in order to write, to explore the craft as I so need to.

Sunday morning, wake up, its not storming. Instead, the morning sun beats heavily into the once cold room that I managed to pass out in last night. I should be hungover, so hungover after polishing off more rum than I normally would, but instead my limbs feel a little more numb than they normally do and my eyes fight with the light to stay shut,

But

As you can more than likely sense, I am awake and all is alright with the world.

Or maybe not—perhaps something happened while we have been holed up in our holiday weekend getaway, but it doesn’t matter right now—the moments moving together are ours to own.

Yesterday was overcast and dark but it was the same thing that it usually is when you come to spend time with a group of other people—constantly spending time preparing to eat or drink and not getting any real relaxation time to just sit down and be.

But not me, I have tried to take a couple of moments here and there to make sure that I at least got some reading and writing in—this is why I come here—not to spend time with people, not to eat, not so much to get drunk, but to relax in my own skin and be inspired to write about something.

And this is what I get.

I really need to find that little book on writing that Megan gave me once because it would give me some story ideas to work from—I am having struggles in deciding what I want to write—I want to lean more onto journal writing, but I don’t want to talk about things that people might read at some point—if that seems to make any sense.

Wed Night-- The whole fact of the matter is that I got little time in to do what I wanted to do because the weather the next day was just amazing-- in a positive way and somehow, somehow, I managed to actually-- drum roll please, read. This was after trying for so goddamn long to go and fly a kite. It was one of those lame-o double fisted kites that you have to attempt to control--and that day was not the day for me to be a control freak, so I tried time and time again to put the fucking thing away, but Megan and Fargo to a certain extent kept trying to just make the little birdie fly, but it's wings should have been clipped ever so long ago.

More later--I have other things that I need to attend to...!!