I barely escaped adolescence. there are so many reasons why that I could not begin to enumerate them much less tell you about them. actually I am not always so sure I escaped but what I mean to say is how on earth did I live this long.
but that is another chapter. not to say it hasn't been or won't get written up. someday they will find the notebooks and I will die of embarrassment but in all honesty. in all honesty. what. honestly.
one thing I will say if I could only remember what it was. or nevermind that but rather here is the story from day one although there is no way to locate that day because the story began at least a few minutes before I could recognize it and thus was without beginning. we tune in one by one or hundreds of thousands at a time to hundreds of thousands already speaking.
I played my first game of spin the bottle at age 34. this is a game best played when you are in love with everyone which I was and that at least was one good thing about all that. there was bourbon if I remember correctly and dawn broke on uncertain feet and we squinted our way home after. there is this flowery smell here in the air just about year-round and between that and the fog and the drinks at 5am the world was a sweet blur.
they were somewhat mistaken about me but as it turned out so was I and probably still am to the extent that no take gets it right and getting it right quickly has become irrelevant to being able to carry on. to be concrete I am not convinced I have made it to manhood or that I am going to or that it waits for any of us at all discretely. that said sir has a better ring to it than does ma'am and I am not sure I can explain why.
but there is some comfort in it but comfort can be cagey. comfort can be a cagey devil or the devil can be cagey or the devil of it is trying to procure comfort as keeping the fluid balance balanced is a delicately delicate thing.
whoever wrote that beer in the sun was like a hammer to the head was right. it is possible that no one has written exactly that yet and still I recall accounts of sunstricken drunkenness that like in the stranger made of the sun something like a pounding or slicing. because when I was young the sun was my enemy and now that I am no longer quite so young I still sometimes remember it that way especially upon making my way home in the street dry as dust and those who stagger in front of me because there are many and if I were to count myself among them I would be alive nonetheless those who stagger in front of me I can only assume are being harrassed by the sun to even a more extreme degree than am I. helpless bloat. prayer for ice.
we had spent all day in the boat. this was the time of not being able to stand to pee which is to say a time almost exactly like this time except no one just looking at me would have expected that I would stand to pee but for whatever reason I was too shy to ask for a restroom and at the end of the day part of me was filled with the metabolites of beer but the rest of me was wrung out in the vast desert of alcoholic and unforgiving sun which is even more unforgiving if you spend your day in a boat in the middle of a tepid lake in Georgia in July so I remember holding it in over every bump until I got home and then relief for the one discomfort and glass after glass of cold water which did not refresh the other until I had had about fifty of them which took some time. at that point I think two gallons went in and none came back out.
why do we do it. there is nothing inviting even in the thought but we'd follow each other to the ends of the earth. they had given me a maroon members only jacket to keep me warm in the cool of the morning for I was too slight to keep warm all by myself.
the odd thing is I remember this episode even though I was in love with none of them. I'm not sure why I went or even why the whole trip was planned but once there we sat dutifully in the boat with our rods and reels and budweiser. I can't recall if we caught anything or even wanted to. none of us were girls in the strict sense but I'm not certain if we knew how to be anything else or if we knew how to be anything at all other than moments floating on the water waiting. whose idea was this.
because the lake was really a vast conglomeration of flooded valleys the number of coves was nearly infinite and I was always astounded when someone else could find their way back to the one they had started in. one year I made the mistake of camping out overnight in a beach chair because the tent was thick with heat and humidity and by morning my body had become host to more than 100 of those tiny red bugs which burrow under your skin and make you itch until they die or you absorb them or something. this is the magical horror of the deep south.
some years prior to this wearing a bathing suit had begun to require a certain amount of dissociation because I was pretty much at my adult proportions and I could not have told you exactly what was wrong because several things were and a small number of them escaped conscious notice possibly as a result of the necessity of dissociation for such occasions but the unknown wrong things were responsible for this necessity so as you can see the circle was vicious there for awhile.
although I can be cheerful about all of it now the depths of hilarity then were truly staggering even to the point that I planned my suicide daily. this is not hyperbole but neither have I designs on your sympathy but rather this is the story and I love it. because what can you do for a sorry story other than love it. because what do we have but sorry stories.