From High Kicks to Low Blows | Writing | Vancouver | Musings, Tangents, Rants

Monday, March 23rd, 2009 | Author: stinkwallet

Waking up yesterday morning, I realized that I’ve been much too gracious to my liver.

Clearly it’s been almost a month since I spent all morning and early afternoon in bed. Clearly it’s been almost a month since I set out for my first coffee of the day in the early evening. But this was the entirety of my Sunday: setting out late and returning home early to spend the evening in pajamas on the couch, popping Advil’s and drinking water.

Speaking of clarity, I believe that it became crystal clear to me and a couple of friends, that I am at my absolute judgiest when I still have vodka coursing through my hung-over veins at 2:00 on a Sunday afternoon.

So, as many a weekend has tended to play out over the years, I’ve once again gone from Gene Kelly on Friday night, to Oscar the Grouch on Sunday.

But it is in this judgiest of judgey moods that some of the most ridiculous and hilarious things seem to escape my brain. And so I’m forced to wonder once again, where creativity comes from? I’m forced to wonder when I became such an asshole?

And I’m not ashamed, I’m just critical, exceptionally so at times. And its caused me to make exceptional friends and extraordinary enemies as I’ve gone about my days. It’s caused me creative inspiration and the courage to take a step in what I feel is the right direction and really stick to it. It’s caused me time and time again to take a look at my life and ask myself “what the fuck, Trevor?”

And maybe some day I’ll change, but for now, if you come into the coffee shop at 2:00 on Sunday afternoon with a frizzy pony tail on your head, and a face so made up your skin looks more like the epidermis of a tuber, then I just might call you a “turnip”.

All in the comfort of my close-minded little bubble that is.