Wednesday, October 2, 2013

Out of Nowhere*

Today driving home from the art store I was overwhelmed by tears. I was thinking about Pappy Van Winkle, driving through Kennesaw Mountain Park, sunshine-y day, art supplies in the back, fun times on the horizon, and I somewhat lost it.

Yay. Good times.

Out of Nowhere, La is a teenager.

Out of Nowhere, my school is Tango Uniform.

Out of Nowhere, people are all up in my business about how much money I have and what they feel I can and cannot afford to have/do/be. (Guess what? If I can find it, and I think I have, Imma buy a 23-year-old bottle of Pappy Van Winkle. Put that in your pipe and smoke it.)

Out of Nowhere, nothingness. Lonely.

Blah. Pity parties aside, it was an interesting experience to be hit by grief on a sunny day. Oxymoronic. A bit foolish and possibly dangerous to continue driving.

Out of Nowhere also: clarity in some things, important things. Some I have discussed here, some I have not.

Out of Nowhere also: even less of a need to give a flying rat's ass about what people think. This is bad news for those of you who felt that particular trait was too well-developed in me in the first place. *shrugs*

Nowhere is contradictory, not wholly (un)pleasant place. At any rate, I'll have good bourbon while I'm there.

This self-indulgent entry brought to you by Active Avoidance of Other Issues Occurring and a Real Desire to Stop Whining and Figure Out What the Fuck.


  1. Three +1 things:

    1) I am saddened that you are journeying through a shit cloud today.

    2) That's my bourbon girl. I love me some Pappy. Always a solid choice.

    3) I have a colleague who did her seminary master's thesis on "cursing is a sacred language." Her idea: sometimes there are no better words to describe one's feelings than a curse word. Sometimes things are shitty. Not "bad." Shitty. And we should always allow ourselves the full expression and catharsis that comes with saying exactly how we feel. It doesn't change the circumstances. But, it allows an outlet for the negativity that the world trains us to repress.

    4) Let's get together and share a bourbon, or two.

    Much love and cheers.

    1. When (not if! Cross your fingers!) Pappy comes through, we will definitely share a glass. You are, after all, the one who introduced me to it with your mellifluous description. :)

      And cursing is absolutely a sacred language. I would argue, at times, it is sheer laziness, but I also believe that sometimes there are no better words. Thank goodness for "fuck" (and its various forms).