As fast as 2009 flew by, January of 2010 gradually passed like a slug after a spring rain. Like the slug, there was nothing very appealing about it. New Year's Day was about as exciting as it's ringing in the evening before. Some food, some drink and some football. Not a bad weekend actually, but nothing to write home about.
Work resumed and my afternoons with the kids were as interesting as always. Some funny statements, some comical acts, but nothing that really stands out. I made nice with a parent, whose child was a bit of a pain, despite being one of my favorite kids. She commended my professionalism and honesty and we built a repore which brought the end of one session to a very nice close.
The NFL playoffs kept me occupied on the weekends and a I also managed to get back in the swing of my movie watching. I also caught up on repeats of my one and only true TV vice, Criminal Minds. I only got into about two years ago, so Ion TVs replaying of old episodes was a nice refresher course. Although the catheter, Life Alert and weight-loss ads are truly abysmal. It's all worth it to watch the best show on TV since Fox squashed Millennium. I do however think my love of serial killers is bordering on the bizarre. Between my TV, movie and Internet obsession, I think I've either got to purchase a computer quickly and write a screenplay or go kill someone. God knows television has given me a doctorate in how to clean up after myself. On second thought, I got a little queasy last time I saw a lot of blood. Maybe the screenplay is a better idea.
So as the playoffs drew to a close, the month's days dwindled. I finished watching what was to be the second to last football game of the season. I stumbled home, inebriated beyond my normal limits. I threw three hot dogs into an ancient cast iron skillet. I laid my head down to rest and what seems like moments later, I actually don't know the real time frame, I was awoken with a hand on my shoulder, two police officers telling me I had to get out of my apartment. Smoke consuming the light in the room as quickly as I had downed Stoli shots just an hour before. I stood in a cold rain, nothing but lounge pants and a t-shirt. Damp socks protecting my feet from the cold ground. Police and firemen crowded around me, many friends, making sure I was OK. I was more concerned with the fact my apartment needed a good cleaning before having guests, I didn't have the chance. Although I had started. Two bags filled with garbage lay smack in the middle of my tiny apartment.
The next morning, I awoke, in my smoke scented room. The smell didn't bring on visions of horror, but ones of happiness. The smoke reminded me of sitting around a campfire, drinking beers, maybe even cokes, with good friends in New Hampshire. A hooded sweatshirt warming my arms as the hot flames warmed my legs and feet. Pretty young girls gathered around, laughing at the tales told by the likes of me, Brett, Troy and Simon. Horny young boys awaiting our pauses to interject and possibly impress with stories of their own.
A week, or is it two, has passed. The scent is starting to leave, the memory of that night comes back a little more. Thankfully, nothing visible can remind me of my mistake. Like most of them, singed only in my subconscious. I'm sure there will be a day, while sitting by a campfire, that instead of the beautiful young girl, I'll think of being surrounded by smoke, by people, looking at me with disdain. I woke them from their slumber, but thankfully mine was not permanent. Worse things can happen, I always know that. I've experienced them before.
On to February. As this is being written, my wonderful grandmother is finishing the festivities surrounding her 97th birthday. We spoke the day before and again on her day, Ground Hog's day. Another year of Punxatawny Phil seeing his shadow. Six more weeks of winter? Some friends mock me; Global Warming? I wish they understood. I now know, where there is smoke there isn't necessarily fire, but there was at one time. I hope the icy feel left by January is warmed in February. Maybe someone will keep me warm in February. I'm not looking, but I'm not running away either. It might be nice, to come home to hot dogs, already cooked. No, that would be nice.
Work resumed and my afternoons with the kids were as interesting as always. Some funny statements, some comical acts, but nothing that really stands out. I made nice with a parent, whose child was a bit of a pain, despite being one of my favorite kids. She commended my professionalism and honesty and we built a repore which brought the end of one session to a very nice close.
The NFL playoffs kept me occupied on the weekends and a I also managed to get back in the swing of my movie watching. I also caught up on repeats of my one and only true TV vice, Criminal Minds. I only got into about two years ago, so Ion TVs replaying of old episodes was a nice refresher course. Although the catheter, Life Alert and weight-loss ads are truly abysmal. It's all worth it to watch the best show on TV since Fox squashed Millennium. I do however think my love of serial killers is bordering on the bizarre. Between my TV, movie and Internet obsession, I think I've either got to purchase a computer quickly and write a screenplay or go kill someone. God knows television has given me a doctorate in how to clean up after myself. On second thought, I got a little queasy last time I saw a lot of blood. Maybe the screenplay is a better idea.
So as the playoffs drew to a close, the month's days dwindled. I finished watching what was to be the second to last football game of the season. I stumbled home, inebriated beyond my normal limits. I threw three hot dogs into an ancient cast iron skillet. I laid my head down to rest and what seems like moments later, I actually don't know the real time frame, I was awoken with a hand on my shoulder, two police officers telling me I had to get out of my apartment. Smoke consuming the light in the room as quickly as I had downed Stoli shots just an hour before. I stood in a cold rain, nothing but lounge pants and a t-shirt. Damp socks protecting my feet from the cold ground. Police and firemen crowded around me, many friends, making sure I was OK. I was more concerned with the fact my apartment needed a good cleaning before having guests, I didn't have the chance. Although I had started. Two bags filled with garbage lay smack in the middle of my tiny apartment.
The next morning, I awoke, in my smoke scented room. The smell didn't bring on visions of horror, but ones of happiness. The smoke reminded me of sitting around a campfire, drinking beers, maybe even cokes, with good friends in New Hampshire. A hooded sweatshirt warming my arms as the hot flames warmed my legs and feet. Pretty young girls gathered around, laughing at the tales told by the likes of me, Brett, Troy and Simon. Horny young boys awaiting our pauses to interject and possibly impress with stories of their own.
A week, or is it two, has passed. The scent is starting to leave, the memory of that night comes back a little more. Thankfully, nothing visible can remind me of my mistake. Like most of them, singed only in my subconscious. I'm sure there will be a day, while sitting by a campfire, that instead of the beautiful young girl, I'll think of being surrounded by smoke, by people, looking at me with disdain. I woke them from their slumber, but thankfully mine was not permanent. Worse things can happen, I always know that. I've experienced them before.
On to February. As this is being written, my wonderful grandmother is finishing the festivities surrounding her 97th birthday. We spoke the day before and again on her day, Ground Hog's day. Another year of Punxatawny Phil seeing his shadow. Six more weeks of winter? Some friends mock me; Global Warming? I wish they understood. I now know, where there is smoke there isn't necessarily fire, but there was at one time. I hope the icy feel left by January is warmed in February. Maybe someone will keep me warm in February. I'm not looking, but I'm not running away either. It might be nice, to come home to hot dogs, already cooked. No, that would be nice.
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