I For I

I woke up this weekend in my bed with a hangover.  I began the morning as I often do in this state, rolling out of bed and immediately grabbing for last night’s jeans laid out on the floor.  Digging my hand in the pocket, I discovered a piece of paper.  What was this strange parchment?  Felt like a bar tab.  I unfolded it.  It was.  But at the top, above the bar logo, was handwriting.  Scribbled, barely legible handwriting.  It looked familiar.  Real familiar.  As if the author of these scribbles were me.  Or, a version of me…

The writing said, “Bones – you paid.”

Aha!

“Thanks, Drunk Bones,”  said I, Sober Bones.

And with my first paranoid post-beernight ritual out of the way, I could move on to whatever next neurotic task awaited me that morning.

At some point over the past couple years, I developed a new paranoia – fear of walking out of a bar/restaurant without paying.  Don’t know when or why this fear formed, as I don’t believe I have ever in my life walked out on a tab, accidental or as an asshole teen.  But, as with all good irrational stresses and phobias, don’t bother with questions, just react, man, react!   This paranoia is especially strong on the mornings that follow a night where I’ve had a few (more than a few) beers, and details of the end of the night when I would have been paying the bill are sketchy anyway.    Wake up in the morning and think, “Did I pay?” Reach for the jeans on the floor, dig into the pocket, and… no tab.  “What does it mean?  Did I walk out without paying?  Did I actually forget to pay for the first time in my life?  Or did I pay and just not stuff the tab in my pocket?”   Or dig into the pocket and find a tab.  “What does it mean?  Did I tip?  Did I even pay?  Maybe I grabbed the tab but forgot to pay…”

It’s all very stressful, as I’m sure you can relate.  But fortunately, I’ve found a solution to the um… well… yeah… madness.   I’ve found a way to relieve my morning anxiety.  A solution that’s both safe and free.  My friends, this solution is duality.

Sweet sweet duality.

Many years ago in an English 101 class the professor spoke of William Blake, and I took away two things from this lecture.  One, that ole Billy Blake may have been a pretty good poet, but when it comes to rhyming, a badass MC he was not: “What immortal hand or EYE, could forge thy fearful symmetry…err… symme..TRY?”   And two, the concept of duality.

Now, I don’t necessarily recall how duality applied to William Blake, so perhaps I only took away one thing from the lecture, but whatever, because since then I have learned to apply the concept of duality to myself.  Or selves, rather.  Mainly,  Sober Bones vs. Drunk Bones.

See, Drunk Bones is me after a few craft ales at the nearby pub.  Drunk Bones is a happy go-lucky, no worries kind of guy, always up for whatever random turn of events may await.  Sober Bones on the other hand kinda sucks.  A stressed-out workaholic with an inherent inability to relax, a need for absolute and unwavering order, and a patience level so low that he can barely fill up a full tank of gas without getting anxious to begin the next task.  Drunk Bones doesn’t need to fill up a tank of gas, cause Drunk Bones doesn’t drive.   Drunk Bones and Sober Bones are a duality.  It’s the same person, sure, but when Sober Bones wakes up in the morning and remembers the night experienced by Drunk Bones, it’s not remembered in the same way that Sober Bones remembers eating lunch at his desk on that previous Thursday, it’s more like a sneak peek into someone else’s memory.  Watching someone else’s movie, if you will. Someone’s cooler movie.  Alcohol is neat!   And Drunk Bones, of course, thinks and remembers in entirely different ways than Sober Bones of the earlier evening.  Duality.   Twofold.  Of course, considering that I’m speaking in the third person, I guess that means there’s really three of us, right?  A triality?

Sober Bones looks out for Drunk Bones, makes sure there won’t be any unnecessary complications in the evening that could spoil Drunk Bones’ good time, makes sure Drunk Bones will be able to get home safe, etc.  Drunk Bones looks after Sober Bones in a different way, by attempting to reduce the stresses that await Sober Bones when he wakes up with his mind-pail of neuroses.  Such as the simple task of writing “Bones – you paid” on a late-night bar tab, so that when Sober Bones wakes up in a panic, there’s a friendly note awaiting him that says, “Don’t worry, pal.  All debts were tendered.  No bartenders or waitresses were left wanting, not on my watch.”   It’s these little things that make the guys get along so well, as different as they are.

One time some friends came to pick up Sober Bones at his house to go grab a few beers.  In the process of eliminating the final exit-task of double-checking that all doors were locked, Sober Bones managed to track mud onto the carpet of one of the rooms (“Bones Alley”, the room is called).  This upset Sober Bones.  Fortunately, Sober Bones disappeared shortly after.  Drunk Bones didn’t give a shit about the mud.   But, when he entered the house later that night, after a happy few hours of drinks and laughs with good friends, Drunk Bones didn’t really want to go to bed.  So, instead, he grabbed some carpet cleaner, headed into Bones Alley, and got rid of that dastardly mud stain.  Sober Bones woke up in the morning, and began his normal routine.  At some point he glanced over into Bones Alley and noticed an exceptionally clean carpet.

“Thanks Drunk Bones!!!”

Sober Bones was no longer upset.

Duality is fun!

On another Saturday night, Drunk Bones returned home after a night of fun.  Thinking about the carpet cleaning experiment, and how it made him feel good to to do something nice for that sadsack Sober Bones, Drunk Bones decided to write a note.  Sober Bones woke up that morning, walked into the kitchen, and saw a POST-IT note waiting for him.  “What’s up, Buddy!  Love ya, man.  Bones.”   Sober Bones let out a slight chuckle, and considered the kindness of that friendly gesture.  He also thought it was kind of weird that someone would leave a note for the next version of himself.  Drunk Bones hadn’t thought it was weird at all.  Sober Bones is kind of a wet blanket.  Drunk Bones would probably pee in bed.

One man.  Two versions. Each existing in separate spaces, separate times.  Two equal parts of a single one.  Both aware of the other, looking out for the other, but most definitely not the other.   Two independents, working together to create a duality.   Forging a fearful symmetry.

In the next installment of “Let’s Talk About Myself”, I’ll discuss Present Bones vs. Future Bones, and all the various pranks that Present Bones would like to play on Future Bones.  Present Bones thinks it would be funny to get a recreation of an entire “Big Johnson” t-shirt (“Liquor in the Front, Poker in the Back”) tattooed across his back, so that Future Bones would have to deal with the repercussions.   Future Bones and Present Bones could definitely learn a thing or two about mutual respect from Drunk Bones and Sober Bones.  Why am I still typing?