II: It had never been what I saw in my head

Scott? Where on earth have you been, boy?

I've mentioned before, August seems to be the downturn of the blog year after year, and it's not hard to see why. What is August? It's the last month of summer, when all my routines have become so old and played out, when nothing happens but anticipation. August doesn't really do it for me.

So it got to be August 5th, and I had absolutely nothing to say. I was living life, you know, quietly, all week. Go out for coffee here and there, chill out with Amanda J. on her day off, rent a movie or two, get stifled in the heat... when I went down to get comics on Wednesday, I sat by the lake and watched what appeared to be some kind of sailing lesson from the pier. I'd been living life somewhat anonymously here in the thick of summer. Naturally, this had to end.

"Summer 2007," I told Chrisbrown as we were driving last night, "Will not go down in the history books." He agreed, fondly recalling summer 2005. I told him I thought 2006 had some very good moments, too. But we can all agree that 2007 has gone poorly, I guess because apparently, after two years of university, everyone feels the need to roam, and I suppose I can respect that a bit. But it does nothing for me.

We were driving to Pat's place. He was hosting a mini barbecue before a bunch of people were to gather at Lauren's place. The usual suspects were there. Cary's back from Alberta, I saw Nate P. for the first time in like a year too, but he didn't come to Lauren's. We sat a while and enjoyed the cool summer evening, talking about nothing in particular, except for Pat lamenting the unfortunate experiences of the drinking he'd done the night before (complete with hilarious pantomime.)

We got to Lauren's, I had four Keiths with me, which given my stature and bulk is easily a whole night of drinking. Lord knows I can't put 'em away like Chris or Cary, but I do what I can.

Alcoholic drinks, most particularly beer, are the only ones you drink in that way. I've never finished a Coke or a coffee and thought, "I need to go get another one." I do take refills at restaurants, but the point is it's never so urgent. "Shit, man, I need another beer." The culture of drinking is one unto itself.

As with any night at Lauren's, it started off in the kitchen. She's a good friend, and a champ for always hosting, but her house has never felt ideal for entertaining. Inevitably, the kitchen gets overfull and a few people take their business in to the partitioned-off living room with the amazing plush leather couches. This was the case; and eventually it became a gender game, with the guys and girls segregated in the kitchen and living room respectively. After watching a Youtube documentary on Oakville's most famous citizen Borka - or "Crazy Maria," which you can search for there - that segregation was busted up and I spent the bulk of the night on a armrest next to "some girl" as Cary re-told the infamous story about the time Jeff Allsop... well, if you know the story, you know it, and if you don't, ask Cary because I'm sure as shit not telling it. No pun intended?

I didn't have much to say all night, and was positively swimming in it for the first time seemingly in months, so by the end of the night I observed somewhat hazily as they played Cary's much-lauded drinking game on the kitchen floor. Not going to lie, from my observations it didn't really live up to the hype. It was kind of a carnival game, a lot of energy being expended for a few drinks. I don't know though... my perception was distorted by inebriation. Chris and I had CB take us home. I mulled around a bit, let the dog out, and then got sick and went to bed.

I'm a vomitter. This has been the subject of much discussion over the years. I may never truly be able to make people understand the situation... that it's more complex than "Oh he drank too much there he goes," but I prove myself, time and again with actions. I have vomitted many times in many peoples' houses, but never at anyone's inconvenience but my own. I don't enjoy it, that's for damn sure, but maybe I've destroyed my stomach with too much Coca-Cola in younger years that sometimes - by no means all the time but often enough - it's just too much. Or maybe it's my head, there's another likely subject. I'm a vomitter and though I know it's a problem, for myself more than anyone, I am not ashamed of it because I do my part and, except for one extenuating circumstance last October, never left a real mess and even that was outside. Maybe I just have a more Roman attitude toward it. Like I said, it ain't a choice but I can accept it.

After a grotesque misadventure back on New Year's, I made my resolution for 2007 not to vomit. Perhaps it was optimistic of me to think that I could go from January 1 to December 31 without vomitting, but I've done a remarkable job and, in the time since, have done so probably less than I had the last few weeks of 2006. This often comes with the aid of medicine, which I have been lacking of late, and which also doesn't always help (especially if you take it after drinking 5 G&T's.) But back to last night. I got home and got sick.

It was so loud, so disturbing, apparently, that our boarder, Amanda, texted Eric to let him know I had probably drank too much and that I was puking my guts up. Well, who's to say what's too much? I'd say I'd had just enough, but hey, this shit is inevitable for me sometimes... mind you, I'd probably have been better served by trying to walk it off a while rather than just collapse into bed, which always seems to just kick me in the crotch with this stuff.

After two sessions at the vomitorium, and a thorough cleaning (most of it hit the mark, but not necessarily all,) I finally settled in and went to bed. It was a good sleep, which may mean that this mysterious thing on my neck is finally going away (seriously, whatthefuck?) as it's affecting me less though by no means gone. I woke up around 9:15, and then decided that was too bloody early, particularly after a night of drinking, so I rolled over and slept for another hour.

Apart from a bitter taste in my mouth and a stomach that at first didn't know if it was coming or going, I felt fine, even great. Perhaps due in part to the expulsion of toxins, as well as consumption of water, I usually seem to bounce back from nights like these with ease. My record of few hangovers (one) is a point of pride for yours truly. For the second day straight, I opted not to go for coffee, because, hey... shit, man, why be such an addict? I may go back to the routine tomorrow, but there's no need to make every day about it.

"How did it get to be august?" wondered Chrisbrown. It happens every year, August is probably among the least anticipated months. It's just loaded with dread, but you know, after May, June and July, I'll actually be ready to go back to school this year. For two and a half months, I was just fucking stressed about bullshit nonsense. Since the middle of July, I've been zen, man, and by September, who knows. I could be downright eager.

But I can't really speculate too much on the future, because if the past is any indication, then the future is nothing but uncertain. I don't like that sentence, but I'm leaving it, because it expresses my point well enough; that you just never can tell.

I guess I'm done for today. Keep on rockin'
-Scott