19aces

So i was at Lucky Baldwins last night with a friend. Its this "English" pub in Pasadena, actually a really cool place always with a great variety of beers on tap, and at the conlcusion of the sweetass, half hour long, FREEBIRD solo on the jukebox, and four pints in, i realize how much of a pussy ive been the last two months. Ive been wallowing in some kind of pitiful funk, depressing to myself and im sure others as i tried to cope with my (ex)girlfriend ripping my heart out and throwing it into the freeway traffic to be trampled upon over and over by time spent thinking about her, trying to make sense of it. I turned into the man waiting for the bus that was never to come, staring at my phone in anticipation of her call that would never ring. I wrote letters, poems, songs, left messages, poured my heart out, only to be treated like some unknown creep she had never seen before. I didnt know what she was doing and my imagination made up for that, the wheels turning thoughts fabricated by my mind, exagerated in a way only i could dream up. I was a wreck, anxious, wound up to the point of implosion and i was going to break. But i had thought about it all day. Stepping back to look at myself. And at that moment, with a belly full of beer, and the smell of fish and chips in the air, i turned on my bar stool to my friend and said "i just gotta deal with it" and he said "yep", and i turned back, took a gulp of beer, and it was good.