Our little vacation getaway is coming to its close. A friend texted last night, wanting me to go see Radiohead tonight at Berkeley. It will require coordinating a hand-off of the boy, perhaps something even more. The logistics of bay area living. A part of me wishes only to go home, to be in my own bed as soon as possible. But, there is a Radiohead show at the Greek Theater.
Drinking is an odd thing, it's fun and I enjoy doing it with my friends, but I am also looking forward to returning home to my regular exercise routine, without drinking. I have not yet grown tired of waking up and feeling good. Drinking drains me of energy in a way that it did not used to, or not quite as much.
Since today is a day of travel, there will not be much drinking involved, maybe a beer at the airport once we've checked in. I still get travel anxiety after all these years. It is much milder now but still there, lurking, waiting to strike. Beer is medicinal in moderate doses. It is asinine at the quantities that we've been drinking here in Colorado after the boy goes to sleep.
It is pleasant, though, to sit up and chat with friends, drinking beer after beer after beer. Nice to re-agree or re-disagree on those many apocryphal anecdotes from the past, listening to music, laughing together in the dark. Sometimes they're all we have, these barely agreed upon stories that comprise and contain our shared past. We spend so much time preparing to make memories, amassing stories to place in order behind us, forming the narrative of self from the aggregate of tales. Sometimes I miss the scope and scale of my youthful mistakes. I don't miss making them, so much. I miss them accumulating in such rapid succession, an avalanche of error slowly losing the slope that made itself possible.
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