And It's All Your State Of Mind...

It's Saturday morning. No, no, Saturday afternoon, whatever, almost the same thing. What matters is that it's Saturday. I'm in that after-drunk state... My mind is cloudy and loopy, I can't really focus on anything... My ears are making everything muffled and distant, I think one of them may be ringing, but I don't care enough to concentrate and check.

I'm not going to get into details about what happened last night... I'm not in the mood to attempt to remember little details. Dane and Kevin and I went to pick up some money from Paul... I ended up downing about three shots of whiskey while I was in the basement, and when I say "downing", what I mean is chugging, because the asshole who said I could have a shot was fairly adamant about me getting one chance at it, and fuck if I'm not going to get as much as I can while I can get it. Upstairs we managed to convince one of the kids to bring us up a glass of the stuff, and I got about two shots from the glass before we left. Downtown, we bought three bottles of wine from Reid's, and drank a bottle each outside the bowling alley. I can distinctly remember listing off the reasons that I loved everyone (Kevin: "Hey! You stopped just before you got to me!"), and... Well, I know a lot happened. I puked outside, which is impressive in that I managed to get all the way down the stairs and open the door before throwing up all over the ground; I'm getting better. I threw up in the alley beside the bowling alley for a while, and then felt immeasurably better. I ended up dry-heaving a little later, sitting on my ass with my legs spread, body bent, wracked with waves of pain until eventually it stopped and I got up, feeling much better about everything. I also know that at some point I started kissing Lucie, without realizing that she had a boyfriend (she told me at some point, to be fair, and I probably paid no mind to it). We kissed, and we held hands as we walked down the street, and she curled up in my lap to sleep at one point, then got up so that I could do the same.

*Sigh* I don't know how to write this... I don't know what I should be saying, how I should be explaining myself, if I should be explaining myself. I mean, I like this girl, I really do... I feel like shit because she has a boyfriend, and the last thing I want to do is screw that up for her at all. I feel even worse if she regrets it, and not because that makes me feel bad about myself, but because it means that I have been a part of a memory that she regrets about herself, and I don't want to do that to her. The thing is... It wasn't because I was drinking. I don't suddenly become a different person when I'm drinking, although I'm quite sure that there are now a bunch of my friends who are of that opinion. I simply become... More of myself when I've had something to drink, and sometimes perhaps more of Chris is too much Chris, I guess I get hard to handle, hard to control, even for myself... And I don't regret anything, but I do things that I feel people think me obligated to regret. The thing is, this is another page in another chapter in my life, and if I had to pick between sitting comfortably on my couch at home, bored out of my skull and missing out on life, or heaving my guts out in an alley in small-town Ontario, you can be damn sure I'll take whatever experiences life will give me. Sometimes when you're sucking the marrow of life you get a sour taste in your mouth... Savour it, because we can never know joy until we know despair, the yin-yang dualism of life is as inescapable as life itself, and frankly, there is so much good mixed in with the bad that we find. The fact is, some people might tell me that I had a bad night last night, that it was nothing to be proud of. And you know what? Maybe, just maybe, I had a bad night, as standards go. But I had a great time.

Besides, always remember that standards are completely objective. To all those that never find themselves retching in an alley on a Friday night, I pity you. As I'm lying on that cold, wet pavement, I'm learning something about humility, about my natural human foolishness, about how to survive myself. It's damned hard for a man to take himself too seriously when he's heaving his guts onto the dirty pavement. Life is too God damned short for us to look down upon one another, because there's a real good chance that one day we'll all have just as much reason to be embarrassed about ourselves, and just as much worry about what others are going to think of us come dawn the morning after (or school on Monday). Which is why I say we do away with embarrassment, we take all the chances that life throws our way, and yeah, we fall on our asses (or knees, if you're trying not to get it on you) a few times... Because you can be damn sure that when you do fall down, I'll be waiting right there to pick you right back up. You can wash puke out of your shoes later; I say that from experience.

So you know what? I will admit that I am worried about what people think of me. There were people with us, last night, who probably had no idea what I do on my own time, and you can bet that this was an eye opening experience for them. And I'm worried that they think less of me, that they will look down upon me, that they are disappointed by my behaviour. And the fact is, I can certainly understand why they would be. Would I, if I were them? No. And I can say that honestly and proudly... No, I would not look down upon me, because I know what it's like, I know how it is, and I think I am now a better person for having known that. I can still remember that one night, with Danielle, walking Paul home, first in a shopping cart, then draped over my shoulders, barely pulling him along... As he turned, and in one great heave, emptied the contents of his stomach upon my shoes... As we dragged him home, and I made up his bed for him, and then dragged him to the toilet, and then re-made his bed after he puked in it again... And I remember the prevailing thought as all this was happening, about how I was better than this, and that feeling of slight superiority over him because of it all. And now... I will never feel that way again. I will never again look down upon him as he lies retching on his kitchen floor. And I am glad, so very glad, to not be that person, to not have that supreme arrogance, to be a changed man. I feel now only love for the down-and-out, the momentarily helpless, because I know who they are... And I feel only joy at being able to help them back onto their feet with the knowledge that I might be doing the exact same thing in five minutes, five days, five years... Because how can we look down upon someone when we've stood in that same trench, made that same mess, survived that same night? And how can we look down upon ourselves when all that's come of those nights are a few ruined articles of clothing and a much deeper appreciation of the human condition?

Look, I've gotten a little preachy here, I can see that. And it may look like I've written all this just to cover my ass for a few foolish things I've done in the past. But the fact is, I've been wanting to say this for a while now, and I'm glad I finally got the chance to do it. I want to thank everyone who's ever helped me out of a tight spot, and everyone friend who's ever understood exactly why I do to myself what I do to myself. And to everyone who has ever learned even the slightest lesson from me, I say: "Don't mention it." I might not always be the best role model (A quote from a conversation last night: "I sometimes catch myself thinking "Is this something that Chris would do?"" "...How many shots have I had?"), but if there's anyone out there that has ever learned from my (poor) example, then it's all been worth it. Besides, it's great fodder for a book!

I hearken back to the motto that I have borrowed from Great Big Sea: "In this beautiful life, there's always some sorrow... And it's a double-edged knife, but there's always tomorrow..."

Sometimes, it's damn healthy to be on the other side of that blade.

(Addendum: I meant to talk about how distant and alone I felt, with only myself in this little bubble to keep me company... And writing this seems to have been the metaphorical equivalent of putting my arm around my own shoulder and going "Hey man, I'm always here for you." Thanks, me.)