Saturday, March 5, 2011

M. A Guy Walked into a Bar...

I am not really sure when exactly it happened, but there used to be a story in some places that I went and now it seems to attack me at all angles.

Just the other night we went out to a pub that is around the corner from our home. This is an occurrence that I assure you doesn't happen often and hardly enough due to having children. However, that really is the story. What happened to me that night made me realize, I have become obsessed with storytelling.

Stupid observation, maybe, but I noticed myself looking around the room as I sipped on a cold Guinness and telling the stories of the others at the bar. It was really quiet pleasurable.

There was the guy, who was well out of his league, but trying to go to bat anyway. Then there was a set of girlfriends, who with each drink began to compete over the same guy, even though they were talking to three. One of the girls was obviously too cool to be there, but that didn't stop her from staying, because she was trying to get the girl she was with drunk.

Now granted, I didn't hear a single word that any of these people spoke and I didn't know a single one, but their stories played in my mind louder than the blaring background music of the bar. Which brings me to my point, despite the heightened decibels; I didn't hear a single note. I was present for my conversation and company on one side and creating characters on the other.
I am now obsessed, all is lost, and if I don't learn to type 10k words a minutes soon I fear the grey matter between my ears will begin to leak out onto the floor.