Inebriated Tales: Blue In Greg

by admin on October 22, 2012

Inebriated Tales

Blue In Greg

Man, the blues crept in unbeknownst to me, turning my sideways world upside down overnight. They took up residency without even asking and have stayed ever since. Motherfuckers ain’t even offered to pay rent! So it’s been me and the blues for as long as I can remember; the only constant thing in my life. I’ve had and lost money; easy come, easy go. I’ve been lonely; I’ve been loved, mostly lonely. I’ve had my highs and my lows but the blues have always been present, hiding around the corner, waiting to ambush me at the first given opportunity.

What do I mean by the blues, you ask? I’m talking about those hard blues: the ones that keep you up all night tossing and turning, making you tired in the morning even though your eyes were closed for hours. The ones that make you cry for the love that walked out of your life, never to return. The ones that have you perched on a barstool, head in hand, drink in the other, that cheap scotch whiskey burning the lining of your throat while Monk and Miles play in the background, essentially the soundtrack of your sadness. Its right around closing time as the stools go up around you and you are steadily trying to order another double while the bartender tells you no. Yeah, that’s what them hard blues cause you to do.

I know the blues. When you’re a day late and a dollar short on the rent, ducking the landlady and eating popcorn for dinner ‘cause that’s all you can afford. When you’re counting change from between the sofa cushions and underneath your car’s seats in order to get enough gas to get to work, if only for one more day. When the phone, lights and gas all get shut off in the same week, now you know that’s the blues!

Sometimes the blues curl up with me, spooning me in my bed, whispering tales of sorrow and woe in my ear, sweet syrupy words laced with arsenic and despair, bringing my spirits down even further, the way they like me to be. Sometimes they make me cry for no apparent reason at all; the floodgates open and I’m sobbing like a newborn, my eyes bloodshot red, my breath coming out in gasp and just as fast as it begins, it stops, just the blues way to remind me of the control they have over me and my life. Sometimes they drink with me, letting me buy and keeping their arm around me as I poison myself one ounce at a time. Most of the time, they just ride my shoulder like some pet, watching my every move and clinging on for the ride.

I would love to say that I am done with them but they are my companion for life. I honestly wouldn’t know what to do without the blues; it’s been so long. I don’t want them to think I’m rebelling or anything like that: no open acts of defiance here. The blues are like belching; a necessary evil. Or maybe more like a pain that I’m used to, never truly gone but I’ve learned to live with it after all these many years. Here’s to the blues and all of its friends. No worries, I’m buying.

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