I’ve never been a fan of the letter “v”, but when I realized the other day that it’s been malfunctioning on the old writing machine it made me thing of other malfunction junctions in my life. Let’s just agree on the fact that my letter “v” isn’t high up on my list of priorities right now, I just have to remember that if I want it to work I have to push it a little bit harder than I push the rest of the keys on the keyboard.Stupid letter, stupid life, stupid pushing, but I still do it. Sometimes I think I just push buttons to see what happens (which I’m reminded of a Simpsons episode where Homer is holding a garden hose and it gets kinked by a spiky head kid and he says to himself “hmmm, the hose isn’t working, I will inspect the opening with my eye”, and then the hose becomes unkinked and he gets an eyeball full of water.
Or the fact that Led Zepplin has the song “Babe, I’m gonna leave you” and “Babe I can’t quit you”. Well which is it, can it be both, can it be neither. Of course, we all have our up days and bad days, but man it seemed like Jimmy Page had some bad luck with women, or he was just bipolar about leaving and going. Kind of like me, it’s a toxic relationship I have with Wisconsin. I love it, I hate it. It’s just a state, but then again it’s also a state of my mind. It’s almost like in my mind every time I make the trip north I think to myself “Babe, I’m gonna leave you” in regards to the state, wanting to leave before I even get there. Whilst in Wisconsin, however, I have this weird sensation that I’m missing something thus the “Babe, I can’t quit you.”
It’s a broken button though, it’s like the letter “v” for my laptop and Homers hose – it’s just not going to work like I assume it’s going to. My always go with the flow attitude gets damed up somewhere in Indiana and my butt hole puckers almost as if I feel like I’m going into some sort of battlefield. Landmines of my own creation, however, are laying dormant in the fallowed fields of the midwest and I take my adventure at stock value. I set my mind on the fact that in more cases than not I’m making the trip for a purpose – family related 99% of the time) but deep down my gut is telling me that I’m trying to fix a broken button.
This instills some sort of panicked fear in my temporal lobe and I forget to focus. Judgement skills are hazy and the midwest gives me diarrhea of the mouth which always lands me in some sort of pickle, fight, conflict, unhappy situation. I have made it a point, however, to not go away mad anymore, just accept the fact that the more things change, the more things stay the same. I see Wisconsin on a map and I think “I’m proud to be a Wisconsinite”, but at the same time I think “Whew, I dodged a bullet on that one by leaving.” I really thought that all of my problems and grumpiness and addiction manifested themselves in me during my tenure in Wisconsin – and this current trip has confirmed that assumption. I can sit in South Carolina and look at grass grow and not even almost think about wanting to drink. Screw it, I don’t need it, don’t want it, it won’t solve anything. Once I get here, however, it’s almost like a little worm works its way into my judgement skills and before I know it I’m craving brown liquor and fights.
I took my first drink of alcohol in Wisconsin – I remember it well – and I’ve taken my last drink of alcohol in Wisconsin – and I too will remember it well. It didn’t solve anything, but it did provide a nice period at the end of a sentence. More like a book, a fairy tale romance of a girl with a desire for self destruction and attention. I put a period at the end of the last sentence in that book last night. All by my lonesome self, in my car, I toasted all the times I had and all the times I never want again.
It burned, and I was happy it did. It made me realize that those pickles, fights, conflicts, and unhappy situations that I would find myself in were pretty well handcuffed to a bottle of some sort of liquor. Hell, I was threatened not only by a person but an entire Island, I fought will everybody that I’ve loved in my family, I led poor young lads in the wrong direction, and I spent way too much money on bar tabs. Liquor turned me into a monster, and my monster is here. I’m leaving it here.
So, as I pack my bag to get ready for a whirlwind ride back to the sunny (or not) south, I’m going to pack my suitcase with my old books that I used to read when I wasn’t a drinking person, a wad of dirty clothes, and a new outlook on who I am and the buttons that are broke in my life. Wisconsin is a broken button, it’s nobodies fault but mine (ha, another Zep reference) and as a great man once said “Sometimes the walls are too out of whack to fit a new door”. So, see you later, you wacky walls, I’ll see you again. You’ll still be broken, I’ll still be trying to push you, and I’ll still get sprayed in the eye…although the spray in my eye is usually in the form of tears streaming down my cheeks as I take that awesome cambered exit ramp onto 94 South. “Brace for the g’s, fast heel toe.”