From: Igloowhite
Spoon, somehow cant find you
inside. Want to walk to tin
shed, before it gets too late
in the morning?
8:25am 10/7/07
When a text message like that wakes you up, one of the first things you should be able to do is either confirm or deny your geographical location. Quite swiftly I realized I was not in a position to guarantee this.
What the fuck? Where was I?
I mean, it was a house; clearly it was a house, but it was not the one I had spent the preceding portion of the weekend in. It was not the house I had expected to wake up in. It was... familiar? The last thing I remember was looking at my watch, in this room, and realizing it was 5:30, in the morning. Christ, I'd only been asleep for three hours, practically mirroring the lack of sleep from the night before. And oh, oh my god, was I hungry. When had I eaten last?
In a rush it all came back.
Bourbon. Bourbon. Beer. Smoked lamb ribs. Cohiba. Beer. The Golden Grates. Typographic selection and apparent substitution of f for s in 18th century documents. Bourbon. Beer. Pants off. Yoga demonstration. Meatball. Beer. Tequila. Someone's in my bed. Dodge Magnum. Avril Lavigne. Avril Lavigne. Repetitive percussive instrumental. 05:30. Bed. Text message.
AHA! Now I knew where I was. Unfortunately, where I was, was the other side of town. A quick check on google maps had verified that I was about 3.5 miles from the Tin Shed, and the breakfast I so dearly craved.
Some people are indecisive, and require a lot of contemplation prior to action. Some people are planners, and require a lot of details before action. I can see the benefit in both of those approaches, but at heart, I'm an improviser. One part MacGyver, one part A-Team, and three parts sexy determination, I operate best on the go. I didn't have my contacts in, I hadn't eaten in fourteen hours, I had only a marginal idea of where I was in relation to where I wanted to go, I had no water and was pretty dehydrated, and I was reasonably certain I was still a little drunk. On the plus side, I had an internet enabled phone, pants, and a destination.
Pants on, I made the bed (never be a poor guest) and set off. My will to make it to breakfast was all that kept me ambulatory. When I passed a bread factory, I began to salivate like a dog to a bell, and I nearly lost that will to continue. Fortunately, as I was nearing the limits of ambulation due to the unsettling problems of hunger, sleep deprivation and hallucination, I was able to flag down a taxi.
Had it not been for the serendipitous arrival of that taxi, I might still be wandering the streets of Portland in a glycemic deficient fugue, sustained only by the memories of my good friends and the tormenting aroma of fresh baked bread.
I'd like to tell you that everything went smoothly after that, but it would be a lie. A glorious and beautiful lie, but a lie nonetheless. There is no further tragedy in this story, only herculean inefficiency coupled with gut wrenching hunger and a few hours of charming complaining. There is a point though, although I shudder to go so far as to call it a moral.
When you find yourself someplace unexpected, perhaps even undesired, in the company of strangers and out of your element, you have a choice to make. You can piss and moan about the consequences of your actions and refuse to accept responsibility; or, you can take charge of your life and accept that you have some fault, move past it, and create success. It's your call.