Battered and Bruised

Tuesday, September 7^th, 2004

This weekend I was battered by waves and bruised by swings. But I’m still trying to live like I’m dying.

It was a weekend preceded by much anticipation, awaited anxiously, and filled with hope. I had a good time hanging out with an old friend, meeting new people, and visiting my brother. I tried to live as openly as I could—to wear my heart on my sleeve and not fear. I laughed and I cried. I am disappointed, but glad I tried.

Friday Night

I saw weekend hope frozen by a cold shoulder but a sign in green and blue. I grinned in a bar with nice tolerant people. I espoused a silly theory on the motivations of vegetarians. And lived to write of it. I had a vodka shot and remembered Chuck booting on the floor of a bar in London years ago, without remembering why I was in that Aussie bar. Uncertainty conquered sleep.

Saturday

I woke cruelly early and calmed my soul with a run and a sunrise.

I spent the day coated in sunscreen relaxing at the beach. Sprawled on the sand, riding and besting the waves, panicking slightly in a rip tide, and learning about viruses. I listened to hip hop, expanding and defining my tastes.

At night I was introduced to Dave Chapelle and found him hilarious. I asked questions and found the answers sad but calming. I slept.

Sunday

I woke late with a giggling and shaking. I made and ate a nice breakfast.

I attended a barbecue, trying new food from generous people of two lands. I spoke too much of my job and of other’s specialty. I had the best talk with my brother in years. He showed me the studio and beginning of a dream that he must shelve.

I watched the Da Ali G show and deemed it okay. Sleep fell to frustration.

Monday

I rose late without waking to bright sunlight and work. I enjoyed another nice breakfast and felt spoiled.

The afternoon found me burning under the sun for the first time this year, having a heart-to-heart on the swings. I slid down a slide meant for children a fourth my height. I was amused by children pining for fish. I endured awful old-school hip hop. I perceived myself a fool and another denying.

I flew home, riding the cramped bus next to a pretty woman who’s shirt rubbed my sunburn red. I, as I do now, sent words that were probably best left hidden.

Today