she threw the ring at me and stormed out. we were sitting with friends in the army cafeteria, germany, 1955. we'd fallen into a furious argument. red in the face, she lept from her chair. that was the end of our going steady.
the friends and i walked off base to get drunk (no age limit). i figured i could drive her out of my mind with enough beer. after stumbling home in the dark and falling into a deep sleep, i woke cured. it worked! i dated her one more time, for a hayride, she very contrite. alas, now i noticed the blackheads on her nose. the hazy fog of love had lifted.
years later, i began downing a bottle of kaulua and cream every evening before dozing in my little trailer. for weeks i drank and fantasized about a young lady, someone beyond reach. luckily, one morning a spasm in my back felled me to the bathroom floor. for the next two weeks i lay in my tiny mobile and visited the chiropractor. this happening for the first time, i didn't know how to handle it (now i do).
for seventeen years i didn't take a drink. reality drove out fantasy and made me afraid. last summer, i did try wine, reading a glass a day helps prevent heart attacks. really, i didn't like the wine. then i found a pint of english stout on the co-op shelf. it brought back nostalgic memories of europe.
this led to on-again, off-again, of a pint a night before falling asleep. and i noticed i craved it when a woman had attracted me during the day. the foggy haze of the bottle matched that of romance, canceling the latter and consoling me. this by far easier than buying flowers, a ring, and suffering tantrums.
the real cause, of course, is the desire for the mother's comforting arms (do guys ever get over it?) and sometimes the wine of life can't match what you can purchase for three dollars at the corner store.
i'm on the wagon again, but i miss the great dreams a buzz gives me. and as a friend once said, 'you're a lot funnier when you're drinking.' i miss my super-charged sense of humor. that said, i decided i was wasting too much time, oversleeping and drained of energy the next day. time is all we have, our most valuable commodity. booze and desire both tend to take it away.
new pics from yesterday of my friend peter jodaitis' studio:
and more roses: