2k7text
by j.charles @ textproductions
At some point in time we all get caught in the undercurrent. We attempt to forge a seemingly calm river, only to find that the unseen torrent below sucks you in. The harder you swim against the current, the harder to reach your destination. You get tired. Unable to fight against your ultimate, unchosen destination.
Two thousand six was my timid river. The best of years, the worst of times. I started this writing thing, and I let it get a hold of me. School, work, friendships, relationships. All had washed away in the undertow. I began to fight its effects and, like fighting the timid river, I began to tire. I started to slip. Honestly, I reached the other bank, two thousand seven, with a black eye, a head full of knowledge and an empty dream. This website was for all intensive purposes stillborn.
This year, while you were enjoying your midnight cognac and kiss, I was working in the back of that restaurant. I was staring at the clock while I watched you dance, furious at the ones who held me financially captive on the one night out of the entire year that it would’ve been nice to get out a little early.
But I came home to a party, the bottom of a magnum of Gloria Ferrer, and my friends. All right where I left them. Time hadn’t changed them or my place, it had changed me. So I forgave two thousand six, as I hope you did, for its toll on the parts of my life I hold dear, and we made up. We “had a talk,” me and grandfather time. The agreement we came to? To do whatever I wanted, as long as it meant doing what I had to. Get yours, take care of yours, if you will.
So I one upped him. I stopped smoking weed (albeit for fear of legal recourse). Began my road to cessation for my social cigarette smoking devil, and almost eradicated hard alcohol, opting instead for my beloved tall can of “la bala plata” in a brown paper bag. I began taking care of my blood pressure, my retirement, my house plants, my bank account, my relationship with my grandparents. i’m only twenty fucking five.
Me and Dr. Funk, we had a talk. We had a nice long talk right next to a beach and a Cliffhouse. Our only company? A slowly passing air horn and something called a seal rock in the near background of a fiercely intense conversation.