April’s off to a rough start. It’s not so much the relentless cold that gave way to constant drizzle. It’s more the partying. It’s more that I’m so not 22-years-old anymore.
As a result of two nights out on the town, I spent Saturday laying on my brother’s couch, reading magazine’s, and playing with Ethan. Which all things considered is a pretty good way to spend a Saturday. But rumor is the sun was actually shining for a minute. And I missed it. Plus, my dad’s in town and I didn’t have the energy to hang out. Which is fortunate, because they spent the afternoon at McAleer’s Bar on 81st Street.
So I’m nursing my hangover in Chris’ Big Green chair (the matching Big Red Chair is in my living room, and mentioned in the lyrics to ‘Fracture’) with pretzels and Warp Aid, reading Wired and watching Ethan out of the corner of my eye. The kid crawls over, pulls himself up to my knees, and climbs into my lap. I’m pretty much thinking he’s the sweetest, strongest, and most courageous kid in the world, until he reaches out for my pretzels. Which is what he was after all along.
It’s kind of refreshing, and somehow restorative, to watch this little guy manage these most basic of human impulses. When Ethan’s tired, he cries. When he’s happy, he smiles and claps his pudgy hands. When he’s sad he reaches for his mother. It’s all pretty basic. And kinda’ cool.
And so I’m pretty well healed up, it being Sunday morning now. Yeah, it’s rainy and gray outside, and yeah, I had some whack ass dreams and this damned zit still refuses to go away), but I’m running a 10k anyway. It’s a pretty simple exercise: one foot in front of the other.