The Last of the Whiskey

Maybe it was the sub-tropically rooted atmospheric river we’re under in western Washington that put me in a funk with all this rain, all this weeping and draining and sagging and uprooting that got me encased in a work-induced death spiral feeling sorry for myself at the kitchen table working from home, poking at a very old microwaved chicken with my fork, when Dawn asked what’s wrong.

I caught myself in the mirror with the same shirt I had from a long time ago, and thought about that shirt because I wanted a headshot I could use on my work alias since what’s there now is generic, a black silhouette with my name beneath it when I appear to others on Skype: and there was a picture of me at my last job someone took for the team Portal, I could remember how I looked in that shirt (obviously younger, happy-go-lucky, I was doing jack shit back then by comparison, which explains the smile and the youth, the almost “glow”): but now, my job feels like I’m in a Kung Fu film with bad overdubs, a lot of action and quick moves and stunts, but hard sometimes to follow the plot.

And the volume of email, the pace of things in a tech job feels somewhat like the rain this season, its persistence, the sense it won’t ever let up. This cumulative pooling about and everything soggy looking, only rare patches of relief.

I had to consciously put the phone down, to close the laptop lid and just go outside with the dog although it was raining, to get her there and back, but it was just another task.

I stood for a time at the shore looking out, but there was no semblance of Art there, not today. But I thought about writing on the walk there, that I would make this later, and it was a good distraction. I felt I needed a pill, or something. But I had a 4 o’clock so I showered and shaved thinking that would transform me, and then I lay on the bed for a time but got roused by the chime of a new email and answered it, then lay back down again, and got up to get ready for my meeting and clicked on the link, and talked into my laptop mic, and took notes by hand but it didn’t make much sense, and when I was done we went to Beth’s for dinner though I didn’t feel like it, I wanted to stay home and pout, to just clear my head and think about nothing.

When we got back I went for the last of a bottle of bourbon my friend Chris brought me for my birthday in November which I’d been saving for a special occasion but decided this was it, The Last of the Whiskey, that was special enough.


In case you missed it, I have a call for content for Saturday guest posts starting this spring—details here.

 

 

About pinklightsabre

William Pearse publishes memoir, travel journals, poetry and prose, and lives in the Pacific Northwest.
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15 Responses to The Last of the Whiskey

  1. Lynn Love says:

    That over dub metaphor feels like a good one for life sometimes – it feels like there’s a lot going on but it’s hard to see the bigger picture, gain a sense of where things are going, where you’re going.
    Hope the sun pulls itself to the fore soon – always a more cheerful world when the sun is showing its face. Great, as always, Bill

    Liked by 1 person

    • pinklightsabre says:

      Ah thanks for the sun wishes. Appears to be coming up right now, though looks to have had a hard night of it. The overdub…can’t help seeing Bruce Lee’s face. Feels like what I’m saying when I talk in this new job, gobbledygook. There’s a word you must like, there.

      Liked by 1 person

      • Lynn Love says:

        Ooh, yes, gobbledygook is a great word. Along with flibbertigibbet and guttersnipe and hotchpotch and nelly and ginnel and mangelwurzel. Ah, the joy of those words! You talking about the sun coming up jst makes me think of George Harrison. ‘Here comes the sun and I say, it’s alright.’ Enjoy 🙂

        Like

      • pinklightsabre says:

        Hey! Your well wishes for sun worked somehow here, today. Just wanted you to know, and to say thanks. And I love that song. Been spending a lot of renewed time with that record. Renewed interest I should say. You nailed it with all those multi-syllabic Middle Earth words there…

        Liked by 1 person

      • Lynn Love says:

        Welcome back to the sun! Let’s hope it lingers a while. Love a peculiar word 🙂

        Liked by 1 person

      • pinklightsabre says:

        Amen to the peculiarities. May their odd joints drop off the tongue there.

        Liked by 1 person

      • Lynn Love says:

        Ha! Love that! Amen indeed to those weird wordages 🙂

        Like

  2. Maybe the saddest post title ever. I’ve often wondered how people can stand the relentless wx of that part of the country.

    Like

    • pinklightsabre says:

      I know right. That photo was from the Highland Park distillery on Orkney island, where it darkens at 4 pm that time of year, November.

      Like

  3. We’ve had that atmospheric river down here this winter, and it’s a morale killer for sure. There’s something about the absence of relief that makes you feel like there’s no point. Raining when you go to bed, still raining when you get up.

    But I’m glad you still had that bourbon in the pantry. Warms the core.

    Like

    • pinklightsabre says:

      I romanticized the rain going into the fall, grooved out on the sounds and all that, and I tell you, this is IT. No more! Done! But we were lucky up here, we had sun today. And the cat rolled on her back, on the warm pavement, and that was nice. Thanks so much for sending me your piece! I haven’t read it yet but can’t wait to, and to share it. Bill

      Like

  4. dave ply says:

    I know what you mean about that river of rain you mentioned, broad and long. It’s not only from your side to mine but it’s been running since October, an excessive river of time as well. Today, a little sunshine. A least I think that’s what they call it.

    Nice work metaphors. Or should that be; nice work, metaphors!

    Liked by 1 person

    • pinklightsabre says:

      Yes, this sun: intoxicating! Wish I could be out in it but soon enough. I like your playful metaphor diction there, that’s really good. The river phrasing came from our local meteorologists if you can believe that…I liked the poetic sound to it, so I stole it. Bill

      Liked by 1 person

  5. rossmurray1 says:

    That kung fu movie imagery is your ticket to heaven.

    Like

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