Lately I feel as if I am going through some sort of pre-midlife midlife crisis. I am boring, my bitches. I have left Coolsville.
OK, I was never a resident of Coolsville. They let me visit once, but only carrying a pass, and I had to be out by sunset like the Welsh in Chester (a). But I did used to be less boring.
I was reminded of this fact when my cousin, Shawn Jr., recently commented on a post, reminding me of the reason why he wouldn't let me drive my Papa's golf cart. Because when I drove "all thought and rationalization flew out the window" (b).
I'm sure a number of the people who read this blog could tell you similar stories involving me behind the wheel of a car. Or of my strange love for throwing myself from things -- speeding boats, rooftops, etc. You know those stories you always read around prom time about high schoolers getting drunk and doing shockingly stupid things and dying? Every time I see one of those stories, I think: "Yep. I've done that."
But I wasn't drunk. And I carried on doing that stuff well into my 20s (c).
So, I wasn't cool, I was unhinged. But at least I wasn't boring.
What the hell happened to me that I am no longer waking up in France, but instead fretting about missing episodes of "Strictly Come Dancing" or "Strictly Come Dancing: It Takes Two"? Gah. I wish there were two of me, so I could punch myself in the face. And then myself could punch me in the face -- I deserve to be punched twice for being so boring.
The thing that frustrates me is that I am almost certainly a better person now that I am boring. I am generally agreed to have been an insufferable ass up until... say, five or six years ago. I have had friends go out of their way to tell me how much more they like me now than in the good ol' days when I was insisting on waterskiing during lightning storms or drunkenly running full speed at oncoming trains.
But why can't there be a happy medium?
If anyone needs me, I'll be drinking beer and watching repeats of "Q.I."
(a) In response to the same Welsh rebellion that saw Cardiff's St. John the Baptist church ransacked Henry IV issued a decree that in the city of Chester "all manner of Welsh persons or Welsh sympathies should be expelled from the City; that no Welshman should enter the City before sunrise or tarry in it after sunset, under pain of decapitation." Reportedly, this law has never been repealed.
(b) That would make the best title of an autobiography ever: All Thought and Rationalization Flew Out the Window. It's too bad I don't live up to the title.
(c) At which point, yes, I was often drunk.