Here's the thing. Every now and then... I go into heat. I'm not a cat, obviously. But it's sorta like that.
I get restless. I get fidgety. I start thinking about all the things I miss doing in my life. I get to feeling like the walls in this house are just closing in on me, like my life is winding down, and I don't have anything left. Like my bones are going to burst out of my skin and go screaming down the street looking for pussy, booze, and cigarettes.
I miss, in no particular order:
- Live metal shows
- Band shirts
- Half-laced boots
- Having my hair grabbed
- Car sex
- Talking to and laughing with strangers
- Sleeping wherever I ended up
- Being in new places
- Having my hair stroked by new fingers
- Girls in jackets with cigarettes between their fingers
- Eating pussy
- Did I mention live music
I miss all these things and more. I miss flitting around from town to town, meeting new people I never had to trust, and lighting smokes for incredible women who were never, ever boring.
Not that I know women who are boring - I don't.
There is something inside of me scratching at the walls and going batshit up in here.
I need to howl at the proverbial moon.
I need to prove I can be 18 again. Even though I will never be 18 again.
To do any howling right now would probably wake up the toddler and imprint upon him some internal and deep-rooted fear of night-howling. He'd end up growing up to live somewhere urban with no wildlife and jumping away from the neighbor's dogs.
I mean that would just be bad parenting.
Help me, Jesus, I have cabin fever inside of my own house and my own head.
Am I ever going to be me again?