after bar
2001-10-24 08:38:51 (UTC)

If I had...

If I had a newspaper column like Chuck Klostermann, I'd
write about nothing, but write it well. I'd say to my
readers that last nite I started to feel sick, but instead
of climbing into a cocoon to rest away what ailed me, I
went to this fantastic bar in an old motel on the hill
that's parking lot overlooks the city and the lake and
would be a great place to make out like crazy if I had a
curfew and didn't have my own apartment. The bar had the
best popcorn, free credits on a golf game and three friends
of mine jockeying strangers at the pool table. I was sick
and stuffy, but I drank beer like it was the cure. Until, a
little drunk on stuffy noses and simultaneous nasal drip, I
wandered only half lucid into Walgreens where I bought
Dayquil, Nyquil and this expensive poloroid camera with
photos that are adhesive. I imagined snapping photos of my
friends, and sticking those photos to my refridgerator and
my left upper breast. Then I went to another bar and
quadrupaled my original intake and was dropped off at home
at 3 a.m., where I took some nyquil and moaned myself to
sleep. Today I am sick and thinking how horrible Tuesday
night tv shows are...I'm thinking, why am I bothering to
smoke right now? I can't taste it. Why did I eat day old
crag rangoon? I couldn't taste it, but it felt like a waste
to throw something so delicious. And now I'm awake at
nearly four a.m. with a book that neeeds to be read, three
back issues of the New Yorker and one back issue of Sports
Illustrated. A magic 8 ball said I'll never write anything
that wins an award, and that has me in a writing funk. I
can't think of anything to write, but that which has
already been overdone by F. Scott Fitzgerald. And for some
reason, when one nostril kind of clears, my apartment
smells like my throat and Christmas. What does this mean?