It may be Tuesday, but I believe that to be for the best. I needed some time to allow things to sink in. Nothing really has sunk in yet, but I’m going to go out on a limb and assume that they will.
Sooo… where to start?
It’s over and I can hardly think about it because of how much I already miss it. I keep watching the videos and looking at the pictures over and over again as my mind refuses to accept that the show is now over. I don’t need to be modest, I did great. In fact, I did better than great, I fucking killed. It’s been awhile since I’ve been able to say that about myself and truly believe it, but I really kicked ass. It’s not hard to see why. It’s a show that was made for comedians. Both the movie and the musical had comics playing Robbie Hart, so it’s only natural that I could handle the role. We sold out pretty much every night and so many people I know came to see it. I had complete strangers tell me how great I did, which as far as I’m concerned, are the only opinions that will tell you anything about how you actually did. Your friends and family will always compliment you and flower the things that they say, but a stranger has no reason to lie. If they didn’t enjoy the show, they wouldn’t have said anything at all. Long story short, kicking so much ass is really going to make me miss this show.
But as sad as it may be, that show is now over and it is time that life continues on. And I suppose it already is. Sunday, after the show I donned a kilt and did what men in kilts do best… which is getting really, really, really fucking drunk. But I didn’t just get really, really, really fucking drunk, but I did it in Yonkers, after the parade that I grew up on and although I didn’t march in it, the feeling was the same. We went to a local club that’s two blocks away from the firehouse that I used to spend every St. Patrick’s day at. So after drinking and singing for some time and managing to get record drunk in record time, a few Yonkers Firefighters walked in. So having a few in me, walked up to them and introduced myself and talked for a bit. They knew my father and after talking for awhile in a context that I can’t quite recall on account of all the alcohol, one of the men my Dad works with said something that stuck with me. I was talking about how I love my Dad and he said he heard otherwise. It still resonates in my ears now. I do love my father, even if I don’t show it.
But that moment aside, the rest of the evening went quite well. It’s easy to be Irish in March, and without going into detail, I can easily say that this is my favorite time of year. Even now, I’m sitting at work playing Irish tunes and I couldn’t give a rat’s ass if anyone stares at me or not. Fuck off, I want to eat, drink and be merry because for fuck’s sake. We only live once and I’m not going to waste it bitching and whining about this and that. We live to enjoy ourselves and if anybody tells you different, they’re a lying piece of shit who knows nothing about life. And since we’re speaking about merriness in March, I think it’s worth noting that I have been drinking everyday this month. Oh that’s right, even as I sit now at work, I sip on my iced tea that has been mixed with some fine Vodka that my roommate got for me, a true Irish man just looking to spread the joy.
But as with most men of my heritage, we have a sadness that lies deep in our hearts. For me, it’s the sadness of desire for things that I cannot have. Although this time of year fills me with inspiration and cheer, it also reminds me of other things. I wonder if it’s the pain in a man’s heart that allows him to create greatness in his life. Because I can’t have these things I want, I feel as though I have to make the whole world remember me and the things I’ve done. Even at 19 years of age, I feel as though this will be the theme throughout my life. I don’t believe that I’m destined to settle down and become content with the life that everyone else has. No, I feel as though I have an obligation to the future generations of minds like mine. In the same way that people have pushed me, I must push them. Kerouac, Lennon, Wilde, Bruce, Dean, Sinatra, Carlin, Adams, Martin and Allman are just a few of the men who have made me into who I am and I feel that someday, my name will have meaning to some young kid I’ve never met and inspire him to do greater things than I was ever capable of.
So thank you. If things had worked the way I wanted them to, I may have never been able to succeed in my life. Deep down, I wish I saw your face out in that crowd of people, but I knew you wouldn’t be there. You can’t be, not in this world. But these things, they happen. It’s what we choose to do with them that makes the true difference.