comment 0

Moose Lodge Number 1273, Chapter 259

Sometimes, I have weeks where shit hits the fan and makes such a mess that the only thing I can do is laugh. It is futile to cry or scream or get upset about the things I cannot change. So, I laugh, shake my head and cross my fingers that life’s details will shift, things will get better, I’ll find what I want, need. Waking up Saturday morning, I shrugged off my rage, let go of my disappointment and saw the world gleaming under the sun.

I fill my weekends, mostly, with the company of the man I love. As we live fifty miles apart, I look forward to him punctuating my week with laughter and intimacy. Saturday, we were both itching for each other, for some fun, for a change of scenery. There was dinner at a nationally distributed brewpub, crowded and noisy but not unpleasant.

Returning home, we adventured to the recently founded Moose Lodge in town and were warmly greeted and welcomed. I appreciate places that are not conceptualized and designed to death. Generally, I prefer my bars to be unremarkable in their decor, badly lit, with pool tables and dart boards. They are quieter, calmer. The people are more sociable, less concerned about their appearance and more concerned with the tasks at hand, drinking and making good of their weekend night.

Darts.

There were pints of lager and a game or two of darts. There was idle chat with others seated around us, with the barkeep. Those few hours temporarily brought me out of my ever-looming anxiety about the future and into the joyful present.

Leave a Reply