<editorsnote> Nerds, meet my buddy Aaron … he’s a writer, and goth nerd. For reals, he’s got some crazzyyyyy ass stories from some of the peeps he’s met online, and is now here to share those crazy ass stories with you all. I only have one more thing left to say … HIT IT AARON!!! </editorsnote>
Two nights ago, I found myself more than unusually sore. I’m sure this had to do with my recent return to the gym after the almost month I was stuck unable to walk or drive due to my foot surgery. The combination of sore muscles and the mild headache was a bit too much for my patience. So, I took my girlfriend’s advice and took a bubble bath.
I’m like most guys and don’t take baths. I’m an in the shower, out of the shower in 10 minutes type of guy. Sitting in a bathtub gets boring really quickly but I did it anyway. But to make it more worth while, I brought with me a glass of Basil Hayden (quickly becoming my new favorite bourbon) and put Miles Davis on the iPod and got in.
I suppose I’ve run the gamut in ways of letting off steam. As a boy, I threw a tantrum or two. As a teenager, I took up throwing a baseball as hard as I could against the alley wall outside of my apartment complex. I’d do this for hours. Whenever I’d get stressed or pissed, that ball would be speeding against that wall over and over. Then, in my depression laden 20s, I went from writing suicidal poetry to violently stomping in my 20 hole boots to noisy industrial music at clubs. And now, here I am, 35 year old me….sitting in a bathtub filled with bubble bath my mother gave me (because she used to work at Avon and it was free) listening to Miles Davis and drinking bourbon.
There’s something about Jazz music that really seems to relax me the best. I’ve tried classical music, and while some Chopin and Debussy seem to get the job done, nothing works better than Miles Davis, Art Blakey, and Coltrane. And two nights ago, my good friend suggested I listen to the Miles Davis score for Elevator To The Gallows. I’m listening to it now for the first time on Spotify and I must say, this hits the damn spot.
I’ve finally become somewhat of an adult, maybe? The thought of alleviating anger or stress or soreness in the ways I used to just sound ridiculous to me now. And shit, I made that bubble bath manly like a motherfucker.
So here I am now, deflating from the last couple of days of dealing with non English speaking AT&T customer service workers, faulty wiring in my apartment, and a failed U-verse installation finally being fixed and I’m worn out. I mean, I dealt with three different people yesterday trying to set up a technician appointment between 8 am and 12 pm. In turn, they told me they would mail me a DVR. I told them not to, spoke to another person once I had my appointment scheduled only to be told there was no appointment in the notes but I do have a DVR being shipped to me. I then told this person to cancel the fucking DVR shipment and schedule a technician appointment for 8 am to noon. I then find out today that the appointment was scheduled for 12pm to 4. How the hell does one fuck this up!?!? Ok, I’m getting angry again talking about this. Time for a jazzy interlude…
These are just some first world problems, I suppose.
While waiting for the technician to show up, I was able to watch a documentary on HBO GO since my XBOX Live and internet still worked. The 40 minute film was called Poster Girl and was about a girl named Robbyn Murray. She enlisted in the Army when she was right out of high school and shipped out to Iraq at the bright young age of 19. The film is about her struggles with PTSD and the monster she became while away at war. Heartbreaking, to say the least, it shows how this all American cheerleader became a hardened shadow of herself and ultimately finds poetry and art as a way to once again find her identity and deal with the horrible things she found herself doing over seas. If you have HBO, I suggest watching it.
I sat there and started feeling dumb. I was getting all bent out of shape over an issue with my TV service while there are young people like this girl Robbyn who are dealing with debilitating anxiety attacks and PTSD and she’s only 28 years old now. I wonder if a bubble bath and some Jazz would do her some good…
Tonight, when I sip from my bourbon, I’ll be sure to raise my glass to Robbyn and thank her for reminding me there are more important issues out there than making sure I can see the new episode of Anthony Bourdain’s No Reservations (which I missed, but it’s fine).