My mom is flying to Zihuatanejo, Mexico for her first vacation with her fourth husband of ten years (or so) today. I told her that if she wanted to bring me back some tequila, she should look for 100% de agave. She said that she didn’t want to encourage my habits, and then said something about bad husbands who had drinking problems. For those of you who are keeping score, she’s talking about my dad, who has been clean and sober (but not quite all together) since 1984. So. Yeah. Compared to my dad. Next everyone will be commenting on my nightly naps. Hello, I’m my dad’s dad, too!
So I’m tired after I bike home. I beat the number four bus from Broadway to 31st! I’m guessing that the bus stopped at Broadway for a few minutes or something, but it makes me wonder why the driver tried to run me off the road instead of letting me keep my lane since the bus was stopping for the light, anyway. When the light changed I left it well behind. The night before I passed a cyclist while riding under the bridge at Como Avenue and didn’t see him again until I stopped at Broadway. Then his shadow was behind me. Did he catch up before I stopped? My legs were saturated with lactic acid. The adreniline from some jerk in a car honking at me was wearing off. Should I have paused to say “hey?”
Once I hit 19th all bets are off. The block before Marino’s has me standing up and sprinting, then sitting for the block past the Vietnamese place, then back on my feet to push hard to Lowry. My head gets light as I crest the hill and suddenly my breath is ragged and animalistic. I gasp and can barely turn over the pedals. My hand unconsciously pushes the shift lever to bump me into a taller gear and my legs fall into slow circles. When I gain sight of the firehouse I push harder again, and everything kind of blurs and burns until I coast into the driveway. I peel off my helmet, hat, gloves, and hoodie. Everything is dizzy and my throat burns.
After my nap tonight I helped Lisa and Stan replace their brand new broken headboard and assemble their giant bed. Then I watched Nova and Frontline while waiting for my freelance client to get back to me so I can launch the site. Eventually, I got a beer. It tasted clear and wonderful. I drank very heavily on a few occasions this summer with the rationalization that it was the last summer before I turned thirty and I had somehow scheduled a light load for myself. I had no responsibilities, just a class and a part-time job. Do I need to worry about it now? Do I need to worry about it more? Am I just responding to peer pressure and college stress? Can I come home at the end of the day and say “I need a beer” without thinking about that sentence for hours?