Ouat, my bff, Jennifer, and I went to a casino. I was always ready for a road trip. We would drive into the mountains, stay up all night, me being super lifted and her with her Miller Lites, and we would just vibe, win or lose. We’d have secret jokes about the all-too-often repeated voiceover from the smoke-laden casino ceiling speakers: “Be sure to check out our new food court, now serving Hot Steamy Dogs!” We had the kinds of jokes you laugh aloud about even after decades because the connection was so hiFy. This particular trip, I was on some slots and she was on her Lucky Shamrock. A lady sat down beside me and , tbh, she felt kinda “eh,” though I’m having a cool time. Jennifer came to check in on me, ever with the “Ho, I know your ass ain’t walkin! Figured I’d come find ya.” and after a bit, she leaned in and whispered, “That woman’s giving you the evil eye.” I laugh, because that’s another joke between us, and take a glance between Jennifer’s as she takes a swig of beer. The woman is kinda curious. She doesn’t see me looking. She’s getting handsy with the machine, patterning her fingers over it in intense concentration. That’s cool. It’s a thing some people do. No mind to me. Jennifer heads to the restroom, offers to bring me back a drink because, “I don’t know about this woman,” with a laugh-snort eye-roll. After a few minutes, I feel the woman staring into me. I dunno, I guess she wants the machine but if she could see, she’d know I’m a twitchy human with a cane. Had she asked, I would’ve told her, “It’s a movement disorder. Bad back. So it goes.” I did tend to quote Vonnegut a lot then. I still do.

So, Jennifer comes back with the drinks and we chat for a couple minutes. I stretch. She sits in my seat. The woman is not happy. C’est la vie.

Jennifer leans in and whispers, “Seriously! This woman is trying to curse you!” I laugh. I always do. Sorry, not sorry. I’m vibing and she may be deeply unhappy, but she can’t reach the vibe. I tend to ignore what I could imagine other people think, because “they don’t pay rent in my head.” I can’t remember who first said that, but it fits.

Jennifer heads off to rub some Lucky Charms 7’s, steady as she goes with “do you want to come with me? Do you want me to stay?” I’m all Gouda; the woman chants in my general direction.

I start to win. Just a little. Like fifteen bucks. She’s shaking her head. Oh, shit! Turtles drop! That’s $250 large, my friend! She clicks her tongue. I call Jennifer and say, “Wow! This is So cool! I hit 333 bonus plays!” I feel limitless. It wasn’t about money. It was never about the money. I always had a problem keeping money, because I would give it away. Bills, or someone needed lunch, I was bored or someone could really use a short loan, (why have expectations if I know the probabilities in ROI of my choice?) Sometimes money was tight; sometimes just before the power was cut off, a friend I hadn’t seen in ages would stop by and give me back money I had forgotten I had loaned when times were lush. We would be facing a transmission repair and, “oh, wow, I was offered a promotion…” or, “Cool! Found $20 bucks in these jeans!”

Appreciation kept a lot of darkness at bay. I was still in pain, always trying to find a way through. I don’t know why, but something in my head would laugh and say, “Weeble Wobble, Ho, but don’t fall down.” I had a habit of having weird little pep talks with myself. I still do.

Jennifer was sleeping on the way back down the mountain. I played Trisha Yearwood, “You Can Sleep While I Drive.” All was good. About twenty minutes from her house, Jennifer asked me to stop by “The Bi-Lo: It’s $5 chicken Friday! Want some shickenskin?!!” We both laughed as she hopped out. That joke had fared solid for a couple of decades already. Sometimes it’s so much easier to find things to laugh at, even better sharing it with other souls that can understand.

She’s in the store and the world comes back to me, weighing me down. We’re almost home, and I’m so freaking tired. I was Endless, then… I was knocked out cold. Couldn’t even think to try to open my eyes.

A bit later, Jennifer comes back out of The Bi-Lo. She’s knocking on the window. I drowsily wake up. I had just been floating in a crystal-clear ocean, with the softest, smoothest sand. The colors were so vivid and so calming. I could feel the warmth and breath of the ocean and the sky, lifting weight from my shoulders. I wasn’t even high. I had stopped smoking around 1am. These were the dry years. The years I feared I would lose my job if I got piss-tested or arrested and that meant being constantly aware that there wouldn’t anything in my system long enough for the scheduled test cycle, or I wouldn’t have to drive. Back then, I would perform endless calculations of ROI in my head. I still do. I would try to time out when I had to stop for a week, months… years. If I stop at 3am and drink x amount of water… anyway, people did often tell me I was a bit (or a lot,) weird. I was. I still am. I like it this way. Though, denying myself the one thing that helped the pain of this body is just weird to me, a stark contrast between malicious compliance and intelligent disobedience.

Those years I hobbled around, doctor after doctor trying to figure me out in pieces when I kept thinking, why aren’t we looking at both parts and whole? The wait for this or that specialist to take a crack at my back was both unnecessary and a serious flaw in our system. I was diagnosed with ankylosing spondylitis they assumed caused the spasms at 42. I had been going to doctors for neck pain and rigid muscles and stiffness since I was 13 years old. (True Story: There’s also a spot on my back you can tickle and my right leg twitches uncontrollably. Like a dog’s. Long love Droopy.) It’s okay. I used to think I was broken, but I found a way to feel the pain and let it go. It's just a matter of balance, modulating what body, mind and soul can do in this moment. It’s something I had to learn to do, as I couldn’t keep the twitches still, so I had to find a way to still my mind from the noise that hurt.

So, Jennifer wakes me up from this deeply resonating dream. I stretch out. Unlock the car door. She hops in. I ask, “How long was I out?”

She says, “ I was in there for maybe fifteen minutes. Some guy stopped me to give me twenty dollars that fell out of my back pocket.” Oh, my my my… energy returns to the routine of the two of us, who we have become separately and together for over 30 years at that point. I still feel the peace of the dream as I slide the car in reverse, taking her home.

She turns and looks at me, thinking I must be pretty damned tired by now. She asks, “You okay?” I turn up the music, Eiffel 65’s “Blue, Da Ba Dee” song and say “Hell yeah, Ho. I’m more than okay. This  is a hiFy Vibe. Let’s Fn Go!” 

Ouat, my bff, Jennifer, and I went to a casino. I was always ready for a road trip. We would drive into the mountains, stay up all night, me being super lifted and her with her Miller Lites, and we would just vibe, win or lose. We’d have secret jokes about the all-too-often repeated voiceover from the smoke-laden casino ceiling speakers: “Be sure to check out our new food court, now serving Hot Steamy Dogs!” We had the kinds of jokes you laugh aloud about even after decades because the connection was so hiFy. This particular trip, I was on some slots and she was on her Lucky Shamrock. A lady sat down beside me and , tbh, she felt kinda “eh,” though I’m having a cool time. Jennifer came to check in on me, ever with the “Ho, I know your ass ain’t walkin! Figured I’d come find ya.” and after a bit, she leaned in and whispered, “That woman’s giving you the evil eye.” I laugh, because that’s another joke between us, and take a glance between Jennifer’s as she takes a swig of beer. The woman is kinda curious. She doesn’t see me looking. She’s getting handsy with the machine, patterning her fingers over it in intense concentration. That’s cool. It’s a thing some people do. No mind to me. Jennifer heads to the restroom, offers to bring me back a drink because, “I don’t know about this woman,” with a laugh-snort eye-roll. After a few minutes, I feel the woman staring into me. I dunno, I guess she wants the machine but if she could see, she’d know I’m a twitchy human with a cane. Had she asked, I would’ve told her, “It’s a movement disorder. Bad back. So it goes.” I did tend to quote Vonnegut a lot then. I still do.

So, Jennifer comes back with the drinks and we chat for a couple minutes. I stretch. She sits in my seat. The woman is not happy. C’est la vie.

Jennifer leans in and whispers, “Seriously! This woman is trying to curse you!” I laugh. I always do. Sorry, not sorry. I’m vibing and she may be deeply unhappy, but she can’t reach the vibe. I tend to ignore what I could imagine other people think, because “they don’t pay rent in my head.” I can’t remember who first said that, but it fits.

Jennifer heads off to rub some Lucky Charms 7’s, steady as she goes with “do you want to come with me? Do you want me to stay?” I’m all Gouda; the woman chants in my general direction.

I start to win. Just a little. Like fifteen bucks. She’s shaking her head. Oh, shit! Turtles drop! That’s $250 large, my friend! She clicks her tongue. I call Jennifer and say, “Wow! This is So cool! I hit 333 bonus plays!” I feel limitless. It wasn’t about money. It was never about the money. I always had a problem keeping money, because I would give it away. Bills, or someone needed lunch, I was bored or someone could really use a short loan, (why have expectations if I know the probabilities in ROI of my choice?) Sometimes money was tight; sometimes just before the power was cut off, a friend I hadn’t seen in ages would stop by and give me back money I had forgotten I had loaned when times were lush. We would be facing a transmission repair and, “oh, wow, I was offered a promotion…” or, “Cool! Found $20 bucks in these jeans!”

Appreciation kept a lot of darkness at bay. I was still in pain, always trying to find a way through. I don’t know why, but something in my head would laugh and say, “Weeble Wobble, Ho, but don’t fall down.” I had a habit of having weird little pep talks with myself. I still do.

Jennifer was sleeping on the way back down the mountain. I played Trisha Yearwood, “You Can Sleep While I Drive.” All was good. About twenty minutes from her house, Jennifer asked me to stop by “The Bi-Lo: It’s $5 chicken Friday! Want some shickenskin?!!” We both laughed as she hopped out. That joke had fared solid for a couple of decades already. Sometimes it’s so much easier to find things to laugh at, even better sharing it with other souls that can understand.

She’s in the store and the world comes back to me, weighing me down. We’re almost home, and I’m so freaking tired. I was Endless, then… I was knocked out cold. Couldn’t even think to try to open my eyes.

A bit later, Jennifer comes back out of The Bi-Lo. She’s knocking on the window. I drowsily wake up. I had just been floating in a crystal-clear ocean, with the softest, smoothest sand. The colors were so vivid and so calming. I could feel the warmth and breath of the ocean and the sky, lifting weight from my shoulders. I wasn’t even high. I had stopped smoking around 1am. These were the dry years. The years I feared I would lose my job if I got piss-tested or arrested and that meant being constantly aware that there wouldn’t anything in my system long enough for the scheduled test cycle, or I wouldn’t have to drive. Back then, I would perform endless calculations of ROI in my head. I still do. I would try to time out when I had to stop for a week, months… years. If I stop at 3am and drink x amount of water… anyway, people did often tell me I was a bit (or a lot,) weird. I was. I still am. I like it this way. Though, denying myself the one thing that helped the pain of this body is just weird to me, a stark contrast between malicious compliance and intelligent disobedience.

Those years I hobbled around, doctor after doctor trying to figure me out in pieces when I kept thinking, why aren’t we looking at both parts and whole? The wait for this or that specialist to take a crack at my back was both unnecessary and a serious flaw in our system. I was diagnosed with ankylosing spondylitis they assumed caused the spasms at 42. I had been going to doctors for neck pain and rigid muscles and stiffness since I was 13 years old. (True Story: There’s also a spot on my back you can tickle and my right leg twitches uncontrollably. Like a dog’s. Long love Droopy.) It’s okay. I used to think I was broken, but I found a way to feel the pain and let it go. It's just a matter of balance, modulating what body, mind and soul can do in this moment. It’s something I had to learn to do, as I couldn’t keep the twitches still, so I had to find a way to still my mind from the noise that hurt.

So, Jennifer wakes me up from this deeply resonating dream. I stretch out. Unlock the car door. She hops in. I ask, “How long was I out?”

She says, “ I was in there for maybe fifteen minutes. Some guy stopped me to give me twenty dollars that fell out of my back pocket.” Oh, my my my… energy returns to the routine of the two of us, who we have become separately and together for over 30 years at that point. I still feel the peace of the dream as I slide the car in reverse, taking her home.

She turns and looks at me, thinking I must be pretty damned tired by now. She asks, “You okay?” I turn up the music, Eiffel 65’s “Blue, Da Ba Dee” song and say “Hell yeah, Ho. I’m more than okay. This  is a hiFy Vibe. Let’s Fn Go!”