||[Sep. 15th, 2016|10:00 pm]
As I watch the car cross the intersection I'm confused as to how wonderful the moment is. |
I thought to cross but stopped myself, my general level re: inebriation such that it's within realm of possibility vis a vis some article in the newspaper about the drunken man wandered into traffic and then hit by a vehicle kaput, bloddy smeer on the ground or something,
but like my manager said that ages ago in the foreign country where I almost hit a head-on and then didn't, and exhilaration on high and yabbering and my manager he said, "Dude, iit didn't happen so stop worrying about it." Actually he was being a dick but behind the sentiment was something real. It didn't happen.
As now. It didn't happen. I'm really unsure over whether I chose not to cross the street or chose to cross the street but kept myself back out of self-preservation. I'm at exactly that level: did I almost wander unaware into the line of traffic and thus die out of a sense of nonsense, or did I think to end it on a high note and commit suicide by car but some unaware ego held me back? It could go either way. What's lost to the possibilities of time and to my own limited self-awareness with regard to my brain versus my consciousness is what was conscious and what was not. What's real in either case is that I'm still here right now. I survived, either despite myself or because of myself. Either way it doesn't matter in terms of history. Either way it matters in terms of memory. That's the distinction right there.
I mean, here I am at the keyhole and I'm trying to put the apartment key in the building lock. And I'm inside and here I am trying to put the building key in the apartment lock. Obviously I'm not all here. But am I not all here because of the chemical alcohol turning ethanol in my gibbets, or am I not all here like I'm not all here after a long day of work fatigue you try to stick a key in hole and it doesn't go and for that moment you feel that thrush of rush of what if you're locked out? and then you switch keys and it works and you laughsigh to yourself because come on man, seriously.
That's the game of consciousness doubled down exponential under the 1.8 beers, 2.3, maybe a three and a third. A moment past a moment where clearly fundamentally your reactions are delayed, DWI, DUI, the sort of stuff gives you a breathalizer if caught while driving, but only caught while driving, because weirdly otherwise and this is not an excuse but to be seriously on the other hand otherwise, but clearly your self awareness of the delay makes you more careful and that there is why you're a better driver or something. You never, ever believe it from a person who tells it to you. You always believe it when you tell it.
What's the difference between you when you know it and you when you know you're lying? Drunkenness. You know it either way. But what's the difference between someone telling you they're okay and lying to you that they're okay? You can't ever really tell. And the difference between you knowing you're okay and you lying that you're okay is the same with your ability to tell the difference between if you know in yourself you're okay and you're lying to yourself that you're okay. It's the doubt, right? If you doubt that you're okay, you're okay. If you don't doubt, you're not okay. But if you don't doubt, you can't doubt, and it's easier to convince yourself you're okay.
Which is all to say when you're walking around the park by yourself late one night and even think about how you'll tell the story to someone else, "to sober up", is the term you're thinking, "to sober up", that comes with that self-doubt regarding alcohol-to-ethanol in the gullet transmission, does the exercise help or hurt? Like, are you processing faster or is your body holding out to the moment when more energy and resources can be used against this legal poison in the system that can be worked out, as long as motherfucker stops using said resources for the contractconstrictstretchcontractconstrict of the legamens ligaments? Whatever the hell happens down there, pulley system of musclenerve twisted meatstrings. Takes energy, you know that. Wears you out, you know that. But burns the alcoethanol, low boiling evaporation point? Or system overdrive?
It doesn't matter, you're alive now. You smell the ditchweed from the Puerto Rican neighbors as you backseat drive your own inebriated skull over the whole key versus lock situation.
But did you almost wander in front of that car, or did you merely consider it?