(Image by Michael via Flickr)
If you were anywhere near me in my early 20s, you will recognize what I am about to write about.
There is a large part of me that just couldn't give a rat's ass. About anything. It's not disdain for anything; it's just an utter lack of caring, one way or the other. It's my emo side, I guess. It's not depression. We have broken bread, depression and I, and this is a different kind of supper.
This part has been dormant for a long time, mostly because A) when you have a kid you aren't allowed to not give a rat's ass, and B) Dane was a handful. Now that Dane is gone and my child curses like a sailor, I can feel the sap rising. This is not necessarily a good thing.
This is the type of sap that causes me to drink more than is prudent and make friends with strangers. This sap is fun for awhile, but there usually has to be a sort of a ground up reconstruction at the end of it.
FUN that is irresponsible. Roadtrips. Rolling Rock and Johnny Walker Black (before I switched to bourbon). Loud music. Late, late nights filled with conversation and, well, let's be honest, other stuff.
I get so sick of being mature and responsible. I get so close to the edge of flight. Taking off. Anyone want to join me on the ledge?