I wish Trolley was here so we could play Starcraft 2 like we did when we lived on Island Park. I’d set up my laptop in his room — he’d have a beer and I’d have a joint — and we’d spend hours against some computers in Warcraft 3. Or he’d surf the web and listen to music while I wrote in this blog, sharing the apartment with his kitty and mine.
Those were the summers of No Motiv and Coheed and Cambria. The winters of Bel Canto and The Dears. I remember being happy then.
I wish Aaron and Trolley were here so we could get really, really drunk, even though I don’t drink anymore. Only when I wake up in the middle of the night, and all the thoughts I’ve been pushing into the back of my head come clawing out, leaving me with a restless mind. I pour a glass of Bailey’s on the rocks and practice scales until the alcohol makes me fall asleep again.
One time, we went to the Honest Lawyer to celebrate Aaron’s birthday. In our drunken haze, we thought it’d be a good idea to order some pizza when we got back to my apartment (there was a pizzeria right outside the side door). Aaron hurled in the garden rocks as we were waiting for the order. We brought him in, and gave him a pillow and towel cause he wanted to sleep in the bathroom. He told me later, “I only get that drunk when I’m really depressed”. Sounds good to me.
I wish my friends were here so we could drink like the old days, when we were between school and work, and women.
