This was the first time I’ve ridden my bike this late(1:15 AM). I made the decision because I knew it’d be an okay time, and give me something to do when I’m this drunk, with hopes of having something new to talk about. I rode a new way to downtown Gilbert, going up Cooper and then following a bike trail east straight towards old town. I had to stop at one point because for some fucking reason, like 10 sprinklers were on and were pointed towards the fucking sidewalk so I got unexpectedly wet. I was thinking at the time how it kind of reminded me of an experience you’d get at a water park.
During my time getting there(about 35 minutes), I thought about 3 things, or should I say wishes.
I wanted Courtney to hit me up tonight. She’s a nice girl I hardly know anything about. I want to ask her what song she would want to be listening to when she dies. I also wanted to see a shooting star. In my life I’ve witnessed only two of them, the last time had to have been at least 3 years ago. It’s to my understanding that people actually wish for things when they see shooting stars, so I guess I wished to be able to make a wish, which I think is something that a lot of people do. The last thing I wanted to happen is to be attacked by a person while riding my bike. Like for someone to jump out of the darkness and try to shove me off my two wheeled vehicle, in order to rob me, murder me, or to fulfill any other sick & twisted fantasy they may have. This last wish is mostly because I want to see what I would do in that situation; I so desperately want to find out if I can fend off a villainous individual/crazy person. This is how I imagine the attack going down: I’m riding my bike down an unlit sidewalk at like 6 miles per hour, from the shadows about 10 yards in front of me a man/woman sprints perpendicular from me in order to throw me off my rhythm. With a 50/50 predictability, they either successfully push me to the ground or fail to do so, either way I’m pretty much stopped. Now I imagine myself to get off my bike and enter a spaced 1v1 circumstance. Hopefully they don’t have a weapon, if they don’t I’m going in. If they do, I’m keeping my distance and trying to talk to them. Typing this out, I realize how easy it would be to attack something like that. I really shouldn’t have a chance to defend myself if the assault was at least somewhat prepared.
Reality unfolded and I’m in downtown Gilbert safely. I pass by two Ford SUV’s with the red and blue lights. Four bike cops are waiting at the light, they are talking about something worthy of laughter. I take a right, then a right, then a left, I’m underneath the water tower, pretty sweaty and ready to pace around in circles thinking.
Earlier in the day, Manny Pacquiao fought some guy I don’t know. I was made aware of this through Twitter, after becoming knowledgeable about this, I was obliged to YouTube multiple videos of boxing and UFC fights. Searching things such as, “top knockouts of 2018,” and “greatest comebacks in UFC.” After being in this rabbit hole for like 18 minutes, I got a little sick of it and started thinking about competitive fighting as a whole. I mostly thought about how uncool combat sports are. Not that the concept is uncool, per se, just that there’s no one really cool in the sport. I thought about how probably no American personally relates to fucking Khabib, who I suppose is the most dominant guy right now. Like who gives a shit that he’s so good other than people who have been following UFC for years. There’s no compulsion for people outside of this sphere of influence to want to know what he’s doing, or want to see his face at all. The idea of fighting competitions is okay I guess, after centuries of just normal people fighting others, naturally I’d expect something to think for themself, “what if we took the best and saw for ourselves who’d win between them?” The only way I see MMA or even boxing stay at the same relevance they are now in about 50 years, is if the sport got extremely fucking savage, like fighters were actually statistically likely to die after one bout. At this rate, I’m just not sure if personalities alone will keep the next couple generations interested.
Tonight I listened to James Blake, The Colour in Anything. I’m considering including this album in my robby #8 part 3 post. This album/artist is really the only one of its kind in my library, it does have it’s importance in my history, but then again I don’t find it to be formative to who I am. I don’t know I guess I’ll find out in about 3 nights.
I’ve been walking in circles for at least 5 minutes now, in public, dressed in all black, drinking alcohol alone looking like the lamest person in downtown Gilbert. I felt like the lamest person in downtown Gilbert. I did ride by Whiskey Row, there were a lot of people seemingly having fun, I really hope all of them fall asleep within the next 7 hours & wake up feeling like themselves. Unfortunately, this wasn’t the only time today I felt out of place. I’m starting to hate being inside of any Costco Wholesale Warehouse Club.
I look lost, because I actually am since I don’t know where anything is, I only have 4 items in my cart, and I’m all by myself. I swear 98% of customers at Costco are with at least one other person. The idea of being alone at this store seems absolutely psychotic.
An older gentleman walks by in front of me, he’s with his two dogs, they both look expensive. I ask myself, “who the fuck walks their dogs at 2 AM?” He stands still at the corner for a few seconds, I try to take a picture of him but he turns around and I quickly lower my phone. I’m not embarrassed but the last thing I’d want is a photo of him looking in the direction of the camera. I notice to the right of me, a pair of shorts on the bench. Why did someone take off their shorts and leave it in public? I don’t want to be outside anymore so I take two shots and go home. I think more about getting attacked, but I also fantasize about actually running into another biker, a girl. That’d be a nice story, apart from the fact it’d be 2:15 AM in complete darkness. I run through in my head the first 4 minutes of conversation I’d want to have with her. Today I contemplated about if I should try to stay sober for a few months.
I Hate The Real Me 