I've learned two things about myself today: One is that I can no longer go out and get drunk and show up at work the next day as though nothing had happened. I went to McCormick's last night to drink a shot in memory of Pletch and all my friends came too. Drinking seemed to make things better, so I kept doing it. I stumbled into bed at a reasonable hour and my dreams were full of more friends joining me at the bar. I woke up in time for work and got here early, but was still a little drunk. It is an uncomfortable thing to realize you are still drunk as you stumble up to a gaurded entrance into a military zone. And I don't think my lack of balance has to do with my shoes. It's going to be a difficult work environment, because although I have lost this ability at 24 I will probably not lose the habit until much later.
The second thing I learned today is that I'm really quite jealous of Hunter S. Thompson, who despite everything still managed to get writing done. Granted, he did have an assistant who babied him until his fingers were on the typewriter, but the copious amounts of drugs and alcohol in his body didn't seem to prevent too much. And I'm also jealous of that crazed, lifestyle, uninhibited by social convention or 9-5 jobs. I want to get out of these jobs too. I don't like the idea that I can't get drunk the night before if I want to.
Showing posts with label Hunter S. Thompson. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Hunter S. Thompson. Show all posts
Thursday, December 27, 2007
Wednesday, December 26, 2007
Pletcher Forever
A friend of my ex-boyfriend's just died. I knew him only through Mike, and yet he still touched my life. Life with Pletch in it was a more exciting place. The way he lived was reckless, and dangerous, but fun and carefree. He was like a younger version of Hunter S. Thompson, minus the writing. When I first heard of him, I didn't know how such a person could exist, outside of a work of fiction. He seemed to deny all rational explanation. That night he showed up at Mike's 21st birthday, driving from Hagerstown, drinking all the way.
He carried firecrackers wherever he went and his jeep was filled with gun parts and bullets.
He once couldn't find parking at a bar so he parked across the street in a car dealership, and just happened to have a For Sale sign in his car that he placed on the windshield.
For Mullinex's going away present, when she was leaving Shepherdstown for grad school, he gave her a gun clip. We joked that she was going to keep it until he came busting through her window, dangling from a helicopter and demanding ammunition. Then he would swing back out, guns blazing.
Later that day he was captain of our pick-up rugby game, and we all did shots of whiskey to fortify ourselves during half time. When I told him our victory was due to his daring leadership skills he denied it, saying it was a team victory.
He shot himself December 23, the result of a drunken accident having to do with his friends taking his car keys away from him. He was 23.
Pletch was insane, and wild and funny, but I also got the sense that he could be kind and sweet. His girlfriend certainly put up with a lot, so there must have been something besides a fascination with guns and a high tolerance for alcohol. He was a crazy kid that should still be here with us. He should be telling stories about his antics to the future children of his friends, and boasting about his college years, without fading at all. To think that Pletch and all of his exuberance for living a crazy life, should be gone, and with it, those exciting moments, makes me incredibly sad. Even though I only met him a few times, the loss of his vibrance makes the world as gray and dreary as the view from my window today. I wish he had gone out with his guns blazing, I hope he did not go gentle into that good night, just as I'm sure his friends are raging against the dying of the light. Goodnight, Pletch.
He carried firecrackers wherever he went and his jeep was filled with gun parts and bullets.
He once couldn't find parking at a bar so he parked across the street in a car dealership, and just happened to have a For Sale sign in his car that he placed on the windshield.
For Mullinex's going away present, when she was leaving Shepherdstown for grad school, he gave her a gun clip. We joked that she was going to keep it until he came busting through her window, dangling from a helicopter and demanding ammunition. Then he would swing back out, guns blazing.
Later that day he was captain of our pick-up rugby game, and we all did shots of whiskey to fortify ourselves during half time. When I told him our victory was due to his daring leadership skills he denied it, saying it was a team victory.
He shot himself December 23, the result of a drunken accident having to do with his friends taking his car keys away from him. He was 23.
Pletch was insane, and wild and funny, but I also got the sense that he could be kind and sweet. His girlfriend certainly put up with a lot, so there must have been something besides a fascination with guns and a high tolerance for alcohol. He was a crazy kid that should still be here with us. He should be telling stories about his antics to the future children of his friends, and boasting about his college years, without fading at all. To think that Pletch and all of his exuberance for living a crazy life, should be gone, and with it, those exciting moments, makes me incredibly sad. Even though I only met him a few times, the loss of his vibrance makes the world as gray and dreary as the view from my window today. I wish he had gone out with his guns blazing, I hope he did not go gentle into that good night, just as I'm sure his friends are raging against the dying of the light. Goodnight, Pletch.
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