The Wombury misses you. I mean you. the very you reading this sentence right now. And you. The other you. And I really miss you. it's been so long. no capitals will be used today.
i'm pretty sure i have a slight drinking problem. i can say that in a posting,, since i'm pretty sure nobody in the wombury's family reads this, except for his wonderful two siblings, and they already knew the wombury had a drinking problem because 8 or 9 years ago, maybe ten years ago, the wombury had a very embarrassing incident during a weekend home from college, when he brought home a couple friends, drank a bottle of jack daniels, got into a loud fight with his ma about smoking in the house ("you smoke with aunt teresa, so why can't I do it?" but the delivery of this line was tainted by drunken emasculation) , and then, out of drunken embarrassment took 100 dollars from "kitty"( coffee can under the kitchen sink), took a cab to the greyhound station, and bought a ticket to New York City, where he planned to join the army. on the bus he sobered up and chickened out and never made it New York. and left his friends with his parents in minnesota.
i missed my flight to chicago this morning. the wombury was supposed to fly to chicago to see wilco play for their hometown at the famous riviera theater. i just thought i was coming down with a bad cold so i didn't bother to get up until 10 am, which was 35 minutes before my flight was scheduled to leave laguardia, but i went to the airport anyway, then i had a panic attack for a variety of reasons, some of which have to do with the wombury's fear of aeronautical physics and flying, some of which has to do with his aversion to all the sitting and waiting you have to do in airports, part of it has to do with airports reminding him of that girl he used to know, because the Wombury always had to fly down to carolina to see her, part of it was a general dread about his band, and how the wombury never really enjoys his favorite band live, part of it was knowing he was going to have dinner with this other girl he used to know and that sort of worried him; so when there were no available flights, it wasn't like the wombury was exactly miserable.
now i'm here in brooklyn and my friend, who is training to be a masseuse, is going to give the wombury a professional rubbing. and there's nudity involved. egads. this is making the wombury nervous. did i mention that i'm not even supposed to be here? in brooklyn. never supposed to be anyway, cause you know, it's like a fucking emotional minefield here, like one throbbing pulsating emotional supernova of a reminder of that girl he used to know, but really not supposed to be here in the metaphysical sense. supposed to be having lamb and rice and tasty arabic food, somewhere in chicago.
this is like that gywneth paltrow movie, sliders, where her life is changed by missing her stop on the train, and you what her life would be like if she didn't miss the train too. it's deep. anyway, i just realized i've been channeling holden caufield for the past two paragraphs (maybe the past 15 years?) so it's time to leave you, my beloveds,
but before you go, treat yourself to a picture of gwyneth.
(it's hard to make friends, isn't it?)
Until then,
The Wombury
The Wombury
1 comment:
Even when we get what we "want," we're still not satisfied. It's human nature. This is true for every single one of us. As someone once said, "Everybody knows it hurts to grow up." And it does.
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