I can’t believe it’s finally Friday. This week has dragged by. I admit that I’ve had problems getting back into the groove of things since getting back from Key West.
I’ve been trying to work on things since I got back. While it’s been successful it’s also been really difficult. I decided to quit smoking and haven’t smoked since I left the island. I also wanted to work on not drinking during the week – for dietary reasons. (I desperately want to lose more weight) I know I’ve talked about doing both previously but could never seem to find the will power to do it. I would go a few days without having a beer and then I would break down and go out and have a beer or two or three. This time getting back from the Keys I was determined. I decided I would only drink on Friday and Saturday evenings and try to keep it at a two drink minimum. If I can keep it at a two drink minimum then I will splurge and get a really good beer if not then it would be piss-water light beer which, kind of gives me incentive. If I’m going to drink it’s going to be really good.
Everything seemed fine until last night which was my weekly pool league night. Yes, that would be the true test because drinking and smoking are two of the things I partake in when I play pool. I was determined that I would get through. I pulled out a huge bag of gummy bears and put some jolly ranchers in the pocket of my jean jacket. I was riding my motorcycle so I wouldn’t be tempted to drink. I kept telling myself that I didn’t want to drink their beer anyway because they had a crappy selection. That light beer wasn’t worth it. It was all going fine until I lost my keys right before I was to leave. I’d just had them in my hand. I was frustrated and punched one of my cabinets. Only after shaking my hand and wondering if I’d broken it did I realize that I was suffering nicotine withdrawals. I think nicotine withdrawals might be almost the same as a testosterone injection because I was angry. I stood there taking deep breaths until I looked down and saw my keys – in the middle of the kitchen floor, I might add – where I’d dropped them. I scooped them up and walked out the door slamming it. It felt good to slam a door. When I grew up my parents forbade my sister and me to ever slam a door and when either of us would that welcomed a beating. So, you can imagine how wonderful it felt being able to slam my own door without anyone reprimanding me. I realized that I forgot my helmet so I had to go back into the house. I slammed the door again. Feeling great I slung my pool cue over my shoulder and put my helmet and gloves on. I backed the bike around and took a couple of deep breathes before I started it.
“It will be ok.” I thought. “Don’t ride all crazy now just because you’re angry.”
I took off and started riding only to start crying by the time I got to the third stop sign in my neighborhood. I raised the face shield on my helmet so the tears would dry as I rode. I hated being back in Atlanta, I wanted to be in the Keys, I missed Lee (which, was the worst thing of all), I wanted a cigarette and a beer, I wanted buffalo wings, I was lonely. All this ran through my mind. I allowed myself to cry only until I got to the highway. Then, the last of my tears blew off after merging and kicking it up to 80 mph.
I pulled up in front of the pool hall and parked on the sidewalk in front of the doors. I get rock star parking when I ride there. I pulled off my helmet noticing several men walking in with their cues do a double take when they saw that it was a blonde woman on that machine and not another guy. To be dramatic I shook my hair out a bit and ran my hand through the back of it and smiled. They were still doing a double- take and I loved it. “Only in your dreams.” I thought. Men always expect men to ride bikes and are always surprised when they see a woman take off a helmet. They managed to stumble inside the bar without tripping over themselves. I sat there for a moment reveling in the moment.
“Yeah, I’m a bad ass and I can do anything.” I thought to myself as I got off and walked inside the bar carrying my helmet. I didn’t smoke or drink that night although I lost miserably. My groove wasn’t there. I’m going to have to relearn how to play again without a buzz and a cigarette in my hand.