Saturday, September 11, 2010

Meanwhile, in the real world

There is a bottle I keep in one of the recesses of my basement.

If was given to me years ago by a few long since lost dear friends on the occasion of my bachelor party. Labeled "Chamberlain's Nameless Bottle" (well, except it has my real name) it is an unfortunate collection of high proof liquors that is as foul tasting as it is foul looking and smelling. It very, very rarely makes an appearance, as it serves no purpose other than getting the drunk drunker and its use is paid for harshly the following day. It is a collection of past memories, distilled into the harshest of proofs, that waits for the most/least appropriate times to demand consumption. Tonight is such a night, and following the realization that my grasp of Street Fighter is so tenuous that even a few beers pushes it past mediocre right on to scrubby, it has been ingested, my mind churning and my stomach reeling from the unfortunate after affects (thank's Mr. Matthews, I will steal from you whenever possible). 

There is no point to this drunken, self serving ramble, other than the hubris-tic personal pity that comes from another past birthday. I look at what I have and there are no realistic complaints: a house, a car, a family, a reasonable job with reasonable play. More time to waste on electronic dalliances than any middle aged loner rightly deserves. And yet.

And yet.

I am where I am because this is where I have chosen to be. There is more ability hiding in my head than anyone, most importantly myself, knows, and decisions made in my past may not have always been in its best interest. Perhaps I could be directing the games that I now play to pass the hours between when my offspring go to bed and I lose consciousness. Over a decade ago I chose the easy way out over a musical career, party because that is what I though was best and partly because I am incredibly lazy, and everything that I am now is a product of that personal branching point, but I cannot help but wonder.

There is nothing I have chosen that I would change, and I would not trade the life I live now for anything, but it would be nice if there were two me: one that chose the easy way, and one that managed to remain selfish.

So here I am, a product of years upon years of the path of least resistance, three quarters of the way into the bag with nothing to say. And I turn to an imaginary audience that does not react to, much less judge, what I am: words on a page, anonymous sound through a microphone, dropped links in Street Fighter. Isn't technology grand?

Tomorrow, I will be sober, and I can delete this post. Heh. No one likes looking like an ass, especially to one's self.

No comments:

Post a Comment