And then there was that one time around midnight when I was all liquored up, and in my teens and by myself, and thought… “I need an adventure.”

So I stumble-walked 30 minutes over to the middle school, climbed to the top, and plopped down.

And I sat there with only a few swallows left in my quarter of beer, in the middle of the night, with my feet dangling over the side, and thought… “this is no adventure.”

It hadn’t taken more than 10 minutes up on that roof to realize the night’s adventure was all for naught. A mostly asleep city block down below with the occasional car rolling by.

So I swilled down those last few swallows, those last few flat, gag-inducing swallows. It took a smidge of alcoholic force to get them past my throat but “no drinks left behind.”

I left the dark, empty copper bottle for the next soul clambering for adventure and climbed back down to ground safety. Starting to sober up left me twice as careful with my descent. I wasn’t really The Batman and wary of breaking a limb.

And then I walked back home, even more wary because the thought of Johnny Law while the drunk was fading was far from appealing.

And then I got in bed, mildly sweaty, and went to sleep…

Not all of my stories are good. Most are uneventful.¹

I suppose if you want a reflection from decades later… I’d probably been looking for a spiritual Bat-Signal but those are few and far between when you’re introverted and avoid people. If you avoid initiating contact with them anyway.

A better, more universal one might be the reinforced notion that the adventures are in the journeys. The arrival is often far less spectacular than the anticipation.

¹ And then there was this one time I stole a ten speed, traded it for ten dollars and a purple blotter acid.

#alcoholism #restlessoul