Today I woke up earlier than everyone else, per usual, in a hotel that actually resembled a small apartment. I vaguely remember what living with your parents ISN’T like so I absolutely know what I’m talking about. Yes, on rare occasions Polar Bear Club will spring for a place to sleep that isn’t a friend or total stranger’s hardwood floor. The way I see it, even a fat girl needs to feel like a princess every now and again.
The last two nights I’ve taken it a bit easy on the booze. Not a conscious decision really. It came down to not being able to bring beer out in front of the club near the merch table. Either way, I rolled out of bed surprisingly not hung over but with a pain in my heart and a bag of fluid in my chest. After pushing Jimmy back on to his side of the bed and off of mine, I stumbled to the bathroom and hacked up a rope of neon green phlegm so thick one could probably climb a tree with it. The aching in my knees has returned and at times it’s hard to stand in the shower. When I’m feeling especially romantic I liken myself to a prizefighter that has hung on way too long and yet still there is some fight left in him. Once that happens I smack myself in the face to remind my failing brain that I’m just a drunk with a pack a day smoking habit that has nowhere else to go.
Of course, once again, like every single morning, the thoughts start to creep in like a drunk Nate Morris in the night. The doubts and second-guessing. As I stared at myself in the mirror noticing the bags under the eyes getting blacker and deeper I wondered – “How much longer can you keep this up for?” “Are you still enjoying yourself?” “Are you doing a good enough job?” “Is it time to go back home and get back into school?” “Every single day you’re getting older, your life is on pause, what the fuck is next?” Other than fist punching my dick and brushing my teeth this is my daily routine.
On long drives and time spent alone I often question where members of Polar Bear Club are going with all of this as well. Jimmy, Goose, and Nate are all involved in serious relationships back in their respective homes. Emmett has a child and well, Chris has his collection of piss jars and his right hand. I wonder why any of them would risk losing the ones they love the most by spending months and ultimately years on the road as traveling salesmen in a profession that almost guarantees failure. After these brief couple of seconds where I’m not actually thinking about myself for once I remember that these younger dudes probably still have hopes and dreams - an ultimate goal to provide a better life for themselves as well as their partners. My goals? Well, I accomplished my ultimate achievement in the year 1999 by finishing 24 Genesee Lights in 24 hours.
So while members of Polar Bear Club are sprinting towards something, I on the other hand have been running away since 2003. I believe that was the year the person I fell in love with chose another and ever since then it’s been a life of substance abuse and the beginning of an epic losing battle between adulthood and myself. Other than parents and a sister, I have nothing back home anymore besides crippling financial debt, a car that I barely even use and a pile of stroke mags. I think the main difference between everyone else and myself is that if I had someone who preferred me to others, I’d probably never leave home again. But my family is on the road, which is a terrifying thought because I hate 80 percent of these fuckers. I once heard home is where the heartaches so all my insecurities and doubts make perfect sense. But the thing is this – every night when Polar Bear Club performs the goose bumps still appear. The butterflies in my stomach still take flight and the pain in my chest is replaced with an explosion. I might be running out of breath but I still have a couple rounds left.
