Harsh tokes dude
October 5, 2005Onemana, New Zealand
6:34pm.
If I were to tell you I left the birthday post up, with me wearing my Dickies sweatshirt for the 22nd day in row, to garner comments and attention, would you think any less of me? More of me? But how could you think any more of me really.
36 years old. Holy shit. My life wavers between asking Steph to pass me my book because my lower back is just killing me to staring at the brown bottle of beer in the fridge, wondering how long it would take to chug it. My honest guess? Less than four seconds. I read another blog about this theme. The, when-did-I-suddenly-become-an-adult, theme. I think half my friends think the same thing. All of us mentally reminiscing about the times we used to hang out in subway stations waiting to overhear about a party in Rosedale. Like these times were yesterday, or at least just last year. Thank goodness I starting balding when I was like 10, so I had a physical indicator that time keeps on slippin’ (slippin’ slippin)’ into the future. The other half of my friends simply refuse to grow up, jerry springering their hand and saying no thank you to time, and make their way to the front of the bar, or to the basement to do buckets.
All the power to them. The future at this point is both scary and exciting. The next twenty years will truly define who we are. Legacies established, fortunes won and lost, the poor house or the big house, marriage kids, divorce, sudden deaths, luck, both bad and good and memories of electric joy and arcane debauchery. It’s pretty heavy duty shit compadre. My excuse right now is that take away Hud, a big minus I will grant you, and I have about the same responsibilities I did when I shotgunning king cans, and sucking up bottle toke smoke. I want to finish my novel and lose some weight, but these are not responsibilities, these are hopes and goals. Sometimes I feel guilty about my lack of responsibilities; that I have yet to suffer, yet to feel the pang and turmoil of an earned life lived, but then I just shake my head and smile and think, not yet, please, not yet.
So 36. Next up? 37. One year at a time I guess.
Sunday we went for dinner at another one of the houses of the play centre mothers. She whipped out the boob the moment I got there as well. Relax. The baby is only three months old. Actually this couple, and another couple that joined us, were all very cool. And there were six kids in total, including the baby, running amok in their reasonably well appointed home. We were invited to try out the new bbq, finally one with a lid, all the other ones are just grills on one side, and a big flat surface on the other, which makes me think this is not bbqing, it’s frying.
I brought over chicken breasts marinated in red curry paste with added red chiles and lime. Everyone loved them. There were steaks and sausages and a couple of good salads. And people were drinking. Thank the big lord in the sky we found some people that actually enjoy the occasional libation. The ladies drank white wine and me and the boys drank beer. The host actually made a point of making me try his microbrew preference, meaning he actually likes beer and is not just drinking to make me feel less like a rummy.
After dinner, I sat with the men, the ladies sat elsewhere. It happened by accident or on purpose, no spite intended, it just gravitates that way sometimes. The host ran his own painting and paneling company and the other dude was the resident IT guy in town. Not too long ago, both families uprooted their lives, moving from Auckland (“the city” as they refer to it everywhere in NZ. There is a general hostile malaise directed at Aucklanders by the rest of the country. Aucklanders return this attitude with a lovely verve of their own. It’s interesting) to the small community of Whangamata. Both families said they were looking to get out of the fast lane, and seek a place where people had the same attitudes about life, work, family and happiness. Their attitudes were not unlike the reasons Steph and I cancelled our lives and started this temporary new one.
I equally expressed my joy about the time I get to spend with my boy and my wife, and how if it wasn’t for my family, which includes my dear friends, I would have no problem moving to this country. I know it’s grandiose to speculate not having what I have back home, because that is what makes our home, home. But when we get back, we will have to find a little life niche that satisfies all priorities. It will be difficult, but it must be done. These people did it. Sure they have the type of support network within a couple of hours that we do. Their decision was not as daunting as the climb the huge mountain picture I am painting. Nor was ours that hard to make to leave either. But still both are brave choices.
Talking to these nice people with nice drinking habits just reaffirmed I need to find the balance of heart, fun, ardor, spirit, and love when I return back home to ensure the next stage of my life, the second half of my life, will not be spent trying to attain things I don’t really want, and trying to be a person I don’t really like.
I guess I do have some responsibilities after all
Love to all,
J.
posted by Jason @ 11:20 PM
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