Post by A Right To Write on May 12, 2014 16:48:21 GMT -5
**Tara (Writer of the Week)
The best and worst ideas always come to me in the middle of the night, and after what society would call an abnormal amount of tequila. Typically, I drink my tequila from a purple plastic color changing Kool Aid mug. Once you throw those ice cubes to that shimmering brown liquid, it's like magic watching the mug change from purple to white. Last Friday night, I had just poured my third mug of tequila, and I was sitting quietly in the living room, glaring at the brass candlestick on the mantle. This is where the bad idea started to grow. If you were to graph the evolution of my bad idea, the candlestick would occupy most of that graph. There wasn't a lot of decorations in my living room. I had a giant fireplace that was just ripe for a myriad of fancy, shiny things. But all I had was a candle stick I had fished out of the neighbors trash. I didn't even have a damn candle to put in it. Where the hell do you even buy long slender candles?
Stupid candlestick.
But wait. It wasn't the candlesticks fault, it was society's fault for demanding that I have these things to surround myself with. And if I was being honest with myself, I was never really that big of a fan of being considered a participant of such a materialistic society. So I decided that I was going to do the noble thing and remove one member from the grid. I was going to jump off the bridge down the street from my house.
The bridge is probably lovely during the day. I would drive over it a number of times and think to myself "I should probably appreciate the beauty of this bridge sometime." But like all things, I just never got around to it. As I walked up to the bridge, I was probably stumbling. I felt that I was walking the straightest line that anyone has ever walked in their entire lives, but by the time I reached the railing, half of my tequila was gone, and in a trail behind me. I set the mug next to me as I climbed up onto the railing. There were a few cars that would pass under, and their headlights made the asphalt look like a billowy gray air mattress, similar to the one I slept on every night. Excited to embark on my newest journey, I sucked in a triumphant breath, saluted the moon, and jumped off that bridge.
"Oh god, this was a mistake."
In my quest to help society, I failed to take into consideration what 130 pounds of flesh and blood and bone hitting gravely asphalt would feel like. Maybe I wouldn't feel a thing- maybe I would be instantly knocked out before my nerve endings informed my brain that I had just jumped off a bridge. Then again, maybe I would feel and hear every single bone break before all my blood evacuated. Furthermore- what the hell was I wearing? Someone would find my broken body under this bridge wearing a green and blue men's button down shirt and cowboy fleece pajama pants. Oh, and one sock. That was just great.
Maybe the world wasn't so bad. I did really like hot dogs. I would probably miss those. I also liked the entire Burger King menu. And I liked that cat without a tail that I fed outside of work. Plus I had just bought that Jethro Tull greatest hits CD and they made really great music. Sure, the CD player in my car wouldn't play it, but I could probably find a CD player to play it somewhere. I would never hear Locomotive Breath or Aqualung again. Or Hymn 43. And dear god--- I would miss waking up and looking at that candle stick. I would never see that candlestick again! How could I let this happen? I could probably find a candle to fit it at the dollar store, idiot!
Ok. Ok. Time to form a plan. I could probably just tuck my head between my knees and roll onto the ground. If i could just roll around once I hit the ground, it would lessen the impact. Tuck and roll, as they always say. At least I think that they say it for falling from bridges. I could do it. And when I survive, they would call it a miracle. The papers would write articles about me. And I would go to Burger King and get a rodeo burger with extra onion rings. My eyes grew wide with anticipation as the ground grew near. "Tuck and roll, tuck and roll, tuck and r--" I felt the fillings in the back of my mouth shake loose as i hit the ground. I rolled onto my side, and then jumped briefly into the air before landing on my back.
I slowly opened my eyes to be greeted by the moon. I had done it. I was ok.
I stood up, brushed the dirt off my sleeves, and inspected my body for damage. There wasn't even a scratch or a bruise. I was, without a doubt, the most awesome person to ever live. And as I turned on a heel to head back to the Kool Aid mug half full of tequila, I saw it. A blue and green pile of bones and flesh and blood wearing cowboy fleece pajama pants.
Oh, and one sock.
The best and worst ideas always come to me in the middle of the night, and after what society would call an abnormal amount of tequila. Typically, I drink my tequila from a purple plastic color changing Kool Aid mug. Once you throw those ice cubes to that shimmering brown liquid, it's like magic watching the mug change from purple to white. Last Friday night, I had just poured my third mug of tequila, and I was sitting quietly in the living room, glaring at the brass candlestick on the mantle. This is where the bad idea started to grow. If you were to graph the evolution of my bad idea, the candlestick would occupy most of that graph. There wasn't a lot of decorations in my living room. I had a giant fireplace that was just ripe for a myriad of fancy, shiny things. But all I had was a candle stick I had fished out of the neighbors trash. I didn't even have a damn candle to put in it. Where the hell do you even buy long slender candles?
Stupid candlestick.
But wait. It wasn't the candlesticks fault, it was society's fault for demanding that I have these things to surround myself with. And if I was being honest with myself, I was never really that big of a fan of being considered a participant of such a materialistic society. So I decided that I was going to do the noble thing and remove one member from the grid. I was going to jump off the bridge down the street from my house.
The bridge is probably lovely during the day. I would drive over it a number of times and think to myself "I should probably appreciate the beauty of this bridge sometime." But like all things, I just never got around to it. As I walked up to the bridge, I was probably stumbling. I felt that I was walking the straightest line that anyone has ever walked in their entire lives, but by the time I reached the railing, half of my tequila was gone, and in a trail behind me. I set the mug next to me as I climbed up onto the railing. There were a few cars that would pass under, and their headlights made the asphalt look like a billowy gray air mattress, similar to the one I slept on every night. Excited to embark on my newest journey, I sucked in a triumphant breath, saluted the moon, and jumped off that bridge.
"Oh god, this was a mistake."
In my quest to help society, I failed to take into consideration what 130 pounds of flesh and blood and bone hitting gravely asphalt would feel like. Maybe I wouldn't feel a thing- maybe I would be instantly knocked out before my nerve endings informed my brain that I had just jumped off a bridge. Then again, maybe I would feel and hear every single bone break before all my blood evacuated. Furthermore- what the hell was I wearing? Someone would find my broken body under this bridge wearing a green and blue men's button down shirt and cowboy fleece pajama pants. Oh, and one sock. That was just great.
Maybe the world wasn't so bad. I did really like hot dogs. I would probably miss those. I also liked the entire Burger King menu. And I liked that cat without a tail that I fed outside of work. Plus I had just bought that Jethro Tull greatest hits CD and they made really great music. Sure, the CD player in my car wouldn't play it, but I could probably find a CD player to play it somewhere. I would never hear Locomotive Breath or Aqualung again. Or Hymn 43. And dear god--- I would miss waking up and looking at that candle stick. I would never see that candlestick again! How could I let this happen? I could probably find a candle to fit it at the dollar store, idiot!
Ok. Ok. Time to form a plan. I could probably just tuck my head between my knees and roll onto the ground. If i could just roll around once I hit the ground, it would lessen the impact. Tuck and roll, as they always say. At least I think that they say it for falling from bridges. I could do it. And when I survive, they would call it a miracle. The papers would write articles about me. And I would go to Burger King and get a rodeo burger with extra onion rings. My eyes grew wide with anticipation as the ground grew near. "Tuck and roll, tuck and roll, tuck and r--" I felt the fillings in the back of my mouth shake loose as i hit the ground. I rolled onto my side, and then jumped briefly into the air before landing on my back.
I slowly opened my eyes to be greeted by the moon. I had done it. I was ok.
I stood up, brushed the dirt off my sleeves, and inspected my body for damage. There wasn't even a scratch or a bruise. I was, without a doubt, the most awesome person to ever live. And as I turned on a heel to head back to the Kool Aid mug half full of tequila, I saw it. A blue and green pile of bones and flesh and blood wearing cowboy fleece pajama pants.
Oh, and one sock.