Everything is a Struggle

Tomorrow is the day I die. Or, tomorrow is the day that I die. It sounds pretty trite. In fact, I have no idea. It seems like an unnecessarily morbid thought to be having. I sip my beer. It's kind of warm, but I guess that happens when it sits on the ground in between your feet. Budweiser. Not that it would have been good cold. It just would have been beer. Seven dollar beer. I hear the irregular roar of the jet engine as my plane goes hurtling towards the ground. I'm not on a plane. That's the cheer of the crowd. Fenway park is amazing. And loud. I'm not sure why I think my plane is going to crash. I guess I can't even really say my plane, since I'm sitting in a metal chair attached firmly to cement. I'm not sure why I think that a plane I will eventually get on will crash. I didn't used to have a fear of flying. It's not even a rational fear. I know my plane, excuse me, a plane that I might fly on, will not crash. Or, at least, is unlikely to crash.

I think the fear came from all of those red eyes I took to New York. It wasn't the flights themselves, but the sleep aides I took on them. The Xanex. It's hard to feel rested after a four hour and forty minute flight. The flight goes through the night, but not quite. That's annoying. Rhyming can be very annoying. To try and sleep for that four hours and forty five minutes, I would take half of a Xanex. Yes, it's an anti-anxiety drug. No I didn't have an anxiety. Yes, I now think that taking the anti-anxiety drug at a time when I had no anxiety has now conditioned me to have anxiety in a situation which was once smooth sailing. I have lots of theories like that.

I'm a reasonably scientific person. I point out to people that I'm an engineer, even though I haven't been one for almost five years.

"Thanks for fixing my toilet."

"No worries, I'm an engineer."

"Thanks for holding the door for me."

"Engineer."

"Thanks for stabilizing this bridge."

"Of course, I'm an engineer."

Who would ever say something like that? "Of course..." Blech.

Taking the drugs did make me uneasy while flying. I'm sure of it. I haven't been able to conduct any trials since I moved back from LA. No more redeyes. No more Xanex. Still plenty of anxiety. Although, now it seems to have followed me off of the plane. I'm sitting in Fenway Park. I'm drinking a Budweiser. It's warm. I'm thinking about how tomorrow could be the last day of my life when my plane crashes down over the middle of the country. Jesus fucking Christ, I'm depressing myself for no reason. What's wrong with me? I'm not even getting on a plane for another week. I take another sip of my beer. Still warm. Now mostly backwash. Probably time for another round.

I ask if anyone wants another drink. My offer is superseded by another offer. I feel the urge to play the generosity grudge match. It's the best trait gone bad. I'm just trying to do something nice. I think:

Hmmm, this beer is cold and mostly backwash. I'm not going to down that last sip. It's kind of gnarly. Do I want another one? Hmmm, not having dinner. Unless maybe I get a pretzel and some chicken fingers. But that is going to feel fucking disgusting in my stomach. Ok, no chicken fingers. Another beer might make me tipsy. Tipsy? Ok, another beer might make me feel light headed. Maybe someone else wants one. Ok, if someone else wants one, than I want one. I'll offer. Yes, offer. If someone wants one, I'll offer to get more. Can't leave an empty cup. Ok, if someone wants one, then I'll finish the cup. Drink the swill. Ok, offer, drink, get. Go.

"Does anyone want a beer? I'm happy to go get it."

"Sounds good."

Drink swill. Gag on swill.

"Oh, I'll go get it."

And with that she steps over the row in front of us and is gone. Plan ruined. Aborted. I don't even have the chance to have the generosity grudge match. Not sure why we do it. Well, actually, I think it's because we are idiots. It's not about the money. We don't need to flash that we make money. We make money. We can afford stuff. We don't need stuff. We don't buy stuff. Ok, we buy stuff, but we don't buy STUFF. We play the grudge match at bars mainly. Or restaurants. Or sometimes sporting events. Typically, we play the grudge match over buying drinks. It's not about the price of the drinks. Or the total spent on the drinks. Or even the number of drinks. It's not even about the drinks. Though, it's pretty much always done around drinks.

Plugs. Or Plug Uglies. That's where it happens most often. That would be the homefield advantage for the grudge match. Except that it's everyone's homefield. So everyone's homefield advantage. That's where it started, at least. The grudge match. Grudge match sounds unfriendly. This is really friendly. Almost too friendly. But definitely friendly. We're in the back.

"Hey do you guys want beers?"

"Sure."

"Yeah, I'll have one."

"Me too. I have a tab."

"No, that's ok."

"Just put it on my tab."

"Ok, whatever."

Simple enough. Just put it on his tab. Or, maybe open my own tab. Put his tab on MY tab. Ha! And I hate using exclamation points, but this is a moment of true genius. I have one upped him. He offered to put everyone's drinks on his already open tab and I didn't even come close. I put everyone's drinks on my tab. I put HIS tab on my tab. Ha! Why? Oh, I have no fucking clue. Probably because we're idiots. At least, that's what his girlfriend will say. That's what my girlfriend would have said. She's not my girlfriend anymore. She'd still tell me I'm an idiot, in a loving way. She'd tell me in a loving way. I was an idiot in a loving way.

Late on, he will go to the bar and order more drinks. He will put them on his tab, thinking he has done something nice. He has pushed forward in the grudge match. Doing his buddies a solid. Buying them beers. He will fight me over who should pay for the beers.

"Dude, you always pay for beers."

"What are you talking about? You always pay for beers. I never pay."

"Dude."

A game for idiots. As the night goes on, the match continues. When dawn breaks and it's time to leave, we tussle again.

"Dude, you always pay for beers."

"What are you talking about? You always pay for beers. I never pay."

"Dude."

And when his back is turned, I ask for the tab. The bartenders know this match. They know our names. They are sweet. They cut my tab in half. They know we are idiots, even if we don't. Actually, we do. We are useful idiots. Playful idiots. Making things difficult for ourselves, but funny for others. Except maybe our girlfriends. Or our ex-girlfriends. Or their girlfriends and my ex-girlfriend. They cut my tab in half to help us out. And like an idiot, I tip them back the difference.

"Here you go."

Cold, fresh beer is so much better. Even if it is a Budweiser. I feel like it's awkward to offer to pay. But I should offer to pay. I offered initially. I should offer again. I'll sound like a nag. She did something nice. Just say thank you. Only thank you. Do not offer to pay.

"Thanks. Sure I can't pay for that?"

Nice. Didn't even make the effort to go get the beers, but I'll annoyingly offer to pay twice. Just shut up dude. Say thanks. Thank you. That is all. Nod. Sip beer. Feel refreshed. Not difficult.

"No worries."

"Thanks, again."

Still too much effort. Just thanks. Maybe next time. Unlikely.