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Monday, December 17, 2007

Problems And Bottles Of Beer


Last night, I invited my friend to join me in a pity session of the ages. Rarely do I have somebody by my side to share my personal issues matters because I usually deal it by myself. I don't want other people to be burgeoned with my life inadequacies and insecurities, since I assume that they have their problems of their own. I could have dwelled with it alone like I used to, but I told to myself, "Fuck that shit."

In my valiant attempt to masquerade as a normal person, my friend and I ended up in this familiar joint we usually spend with our other friends during happier days. The benevolent '80s music blaring from the speakers of the dim-lighted bar proves to be a perfect setting for a personable conversation, happy or sad. What I was about to begin, however, is far from happy.

Of all people, he is the perfect guy to talk to regarding my situation for he has experienced the same thing a couple of years ago. He also asked to accompany him and his misery the afternoon he found out about his problem. We ended up spending that sunless afternoon repeatedly listening to Steve Vai's "Whispering A Prayer" instead.

However, last night turned out differently than expected. Instead of the usual gloom n' doom associated with manly heart-to-heart conversations, I was actually giddy and talkative -- two words that don't usually get associated with my name -- while relating my problem to him. Maybe I was concealing the fact that I have failed again and again as a human being, hence making me a miserable chap. Looking back, I concealed pretty well.

In return, he did supplant me with advice on how he dealt with his situation before. He mentioned how I never really shared much about myself before, about my past failures, and so I did. In the end, our conversation turned out to be more than just bitching about how lame we are, but also how beautifully distorted, and at the same time meaningful, our lives have become, all while gobbling on oily pork tips and chugging bottles of beer. Suffice to say, t'was a fruitful endeavor, minus the fruits.

After the emotional, albeit fun, outpour, we headed back to his car and played tunes from the late '90s, the time in our lives we will cherish the most, with the car windows down, driving on our way home. I never realized how I love Pearl Jam and Cranberries until that evening, or maybe because I was tipsy.

As we arrived in front of my house, he told me to listen to a particular song that speaks about my situation. I immediately went in front of the computer and downloaded it off Limewire, and search for its lyrics. And it goes:

So let me in
All that I wanted from you
Was something you'd never do
So let me in
Oh please tonight
Don't let this end
Tonight
I'll Fall


THREE POINTS TO CONSIDER ABOUT THIS BLOG ENTRY:


  • It's nice to eat more than you can handle.

  • I suck as a human being.

  • I'm getting better at pretending everything is dandy

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