audioslave in the air playing over the cackle of poker chips and the back and forth banter of gambleaddicts positioning themselves in one another’s psyches and or questioning one another’s mojo.

i won’t play because i don’t feel like it. i don’t feel like losing twenty dollars and i don’t feel like winning a hundred. the losing part because it’s quick and it’s gone and unless you last til the end you sit and wait for those who do. or you win and it takes forever and you have to actually start paying attention and you realize you’re tensely involved in a showdown you started caring about five minutes ago against your will.

ah.
the rush.

i hadn’t seen my boy with the broken body in a few months, though, since a soccer injury put him on his ass and will keep him there for a another few weeks. poor guy tore his knee to pieces (something i can’t believe never happened to me) so badly the docs went in, came out, and said we gotta get back in there cuz we didn’t know it was so damn ugly in there even though we’re doctors and we’re supposed to know those things.

so they went back in and as a result my boy hasn’t walked in well over a month, maybe two, and i haven’t seen him in that long.

and he looks like nothin’ happened.
except for the crutches.

i think when i had foot surgery and couldn’t walk for months something snapped in me. i think that because i remember the depression and i remember yelling at my poor mother who had to watch me suffer and bear the heartbreak i know she felt as i thought my world was the worst a world could get. i remember throwing my crutches at her feet in frustration. i was accustomed to my immortality.

the pain of mortality as an adolescent is not to be underestimated.

but hey. i was younger then.

my boy seems to be handling it just fine.

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