skinny and tired. quiet, but pensive.

One year ago this week, I was going through a nervous breakdown that was overly trivial and concerned mostly with the fact that I was living in a town where no one I could seem to meet had a taste in music that was worthwhile. I lived in a room with a man built like a brick shit house and our diets were of cheap beer and American Spirits. Mankato was my fourth college transfer in two years. I moved myself and didn't know anyone in particular.
I had found no one in particular to be very interesting after weekend upon weekend of hard alcohol, until Jake and I met shortly after a visit of his to the New Ulm Detoxification Center. He had been found in a bush outside of the civic center on a Friday and we had no word from Jake until Monday morning when he called looking for a discreet ride back to Mankato. The following weekend, he owed the city of Mankato some $400 and was in no mood to spend the weekend inebriated, so we hopped in the car and drove all night to Duluth for no apparent reason. On the road, we argued over our cd collections and traded war stories from living on the outskirts of Minneapolis. We at venison jerky, calling it rations and sipped Fresca from cans and threw the empties in the back of my car. For the first time in a few years, I was happy. At least I like to remember that I was.
When we got to Duluth, the crest of the waves were too high to stand on the Superior rocks, the wind was angry and despondent, and everywhere we tried to stand outside of the car we were ankles deep in water and rust colored leaves. The only thing we could find the gumption to do was find the nearest Perkins for breakfast at 3am, considering that the entire week we were both in a place where eating seemed strange. We were skinny and tired. Quiet, but pensive.

*

I live with Jake now in a house a couple hundred years old. And as of yesterday, I found an iPod in our living room and I've been enjoying it since.