by Shelt Garner
@sheltgarner
Because of a quirk of my life, I generally don’t have a lot of people to talk to. But, on occasion, I do a little bar hopping. As I’ve grown older, I’ve become a lot more self-conscious about how I come across to other people and repeatedly during my bar hopping of late the bartender seemed…alarmed…by what we were talking about.
Or something. Something was going on and I struggle to figure out what it is.
I first thought that their reaction to my drunk ranting was…that I’m a drunk and I need to cool it with how much booze I drink. While that may still be the case, it’s beginning to dawn on me that it’s not that I was drunk that is the problem, but rather I was ranting in a really thought provoking manner.
While I’m well aware that every drunk thinks they’re the funniest person in room, I wonder if maybe I REALLY need to move to a proper city. You know, the type that has a subway. I can’t help that when I have a bit of tipple I find myself musing in a very aggressive, public manner about really thought provoking things.
That’s just my nature.
Alas, however, I’m officially an Old, so even if I manage to write a breakoout first novel…lulz. It’s just not going to be the fun it might otherwise be. Or, at least, the context will be different. Instead of being 24, or 33 with newfound wealth and success that affords me to be “bi-costal” and be a smug liberal looking down on the Poors of middle America on a Red Eye….I’ll just be old.
Age is an immutable fact of life.
