Two Glasses of Wine
For the last year or so, Tuesday nights have seen me break all manner of pretend fitness app step records, trudging around town to pick children up from one activity, and deliver them to another. One by one in the run-up to Christmas, those activities have come to an end. When I checked Google Calendar mid-way through the afternoon at work and realised the entire evening stretching ahead of me was empty, full of promise and opportunity, it felt like a wave of relief washed over me.
Did I use my evening wisely? Of course not.
I used the evening to re-affirm that two glasses of wine are enough to stop me from doing anything constructive at all. I followed them up with a cup of coffee, but given my apparent immunity to caffeine following decades of misuse at work, it hasn’t really had much effect. I suppose I’m writing this though, which is something, right?
When I was younger, and practiced this whole “drinking” thing far more often, I could put a bottle of wine away without so much as thinking about it. Not any more it would seem. The first glass inevitably erases the stresses and strains of the day – just enough to encourage you that the second glass is a good idea – and that’s the one that injects a fairly sizeable dose of “can’t give a shit” into your system. I was going to write “apathy”, but thought “fuck it”. Apologies for the language – I know I rarely swear on the blog. I’ll blame the wine.
You’re probably carrying on reading now, thinking “oh, this is going to get good – he’s unloading like Chunk” (a curious Goonies reference if ever there was one).
The truth? I have no exciting stories to share.
When I read other people’s blog posts, I often find myself in awe of the scrapes, adventures, and idiocy they find themselves trying to navigate a path through. I compare their drama laden posts with my pedestrian drivel, and begin to question my motivations. Of course if I found myself in the thick of the maelstrom that so many of you seem to experience, I might probably be churning out the same posts you are – but then I would also have to live through it too – and that’s not quite so appealing as reading about it.
Do I live vicariously through the words of others? Almost definitely. Would like to be in their shoes sometimes? Absolutely. Would I leave everything I know for that to happen? Hell no.
I suppose in many ways I’ve come to appreciate that the grass is the same shade of green everywhere – it’s just the collection of assholes we have to share it with that varies. Of course the internet means we can make friends with a few like minded idiots braving the surrounding army of assholes, and escape in plain sight together from time to time – and that’s enough for me.