Entry031302

03/13/02 - I just haven’t felt all that great lately. I’m cold again, and quiet. I’ve been very
quiet. I’m becoming concerned. I think I was fighting a cold. I think once fought, the cold turned to allergies. I think I’m very tired of feeling an itchy throat and sore, watery eyes. I could, however, just be impatient, bad habit of mine. I know spring is coming. The cold will pass, or at least come and go for a while. My allergies, well, they will get worse before they get better. The quiet, probably necessary.

I don’t like being too quiet. I like being talked to, not so much chatter or banter, but ... talk, hinting of meaningfulness. I like talking with, participating fully. On the weekend I opted for observing. It wasn’t like I couldn’t have participated, I did a little. It was more like I didn’t feel like it. I remember several times being drawn in, you know, someone’s arm around you pulling you into the conversation. Only problem was, I was there but not there. I felt the arms, I heard the words, but all I could do was watch. Observing wasn’t all that bad, in fact, it was down right inspiring. There was only a very small group of us that night at the Pub. I hadn’t intended to stay long, but there was something happening. We were bonding ...
me, them, the help, the band. I observed the effects of the alcohol. It doesn’t take too much for me, two glasses of Chardonnay, then Coke from there. Well, I could have participated, skipped the Coke, had more Chardonnay. But, that would have clouded my observations which I was thoroughly enjoying. There was the couple over there. They were there when I came and still there when I left, I don’t think they wanted to navigate moving. There was the couple at the bar, chatting which I always find difficult to do with the music so loud and all. They had just appeared, like an aperitif, the finish to their official evening, the beginning to whatever was to come. The help was wasted. They’d left barside
and were clustered, leaning together in a tipsy sort of chorus line sway. One unlikely was getting it on, doing a sort of rap accompaniment to AC/DC? The four boys-night-outers were getting raucous. Add one more to them and they’d sort of resemble an older version of the Back Street Boys, nice looking, one blond. L.A. woman they yelled, or was that ordered. The band, usually taking pride in their originals, submitted, no choice, the customer was always right and they knew they'd overdone it themselves drinking the brews. Had to be the brews that got the bass player roving through the audience, think he was imagining Jimmy Hendrix, go for it bass player, may be your only chance. And the drummer, way too much for him, barely hanging on and ... panting. I, being the observer,
realized it was over when it was over. I felt compelled to address each participant, thank them for the evening ... them, the help and the band.