Broke my hand, got a date.

Dear reader,

I would say that it’s been about a year since I’ve been able to answer the question; where do you see yourself in ten years?

Therein lies a problem, I don’t. I don’t, or maybe just can’t, see myself in ten years. I don’t have goals anymore even though I want them so badly. I look around and I see so many people with these inner drives, these burning desires to strive for some goal. I cannot relate.

I certainly didn’t see myself where I am now when I was ten years younger. This week was a week from hell. I suppose it’s exactly the medicine I needed. But, you don’t want to hear me blather on about that, you want to hear about my hand--storytime.

Last weekend was super social for me. I went to an out-of-town saloon with some friends and I was feeling good the next day so I went ahead and met some more friends at a mudding spot in my county. Yes, yes, I know I’m a fucking redneck. Judge all you want; it’s the result of being raised in the area.

My friend (James) and I took my truck, a sassy little Ford Sport Trac, to a place called Graveyard. I’m sure that Graveyard got its name because it’s where vehicles go to die and it’s where a lot of crime happens. It’s an enormous area stretching a few miles in all directions. There’s mud and water and sugar sand all over the goddamned place and if you don’t know how to drive in it then you might as well say goodbye to either your transmission, radiator, or suspension.

James and I got there, parked by the edge in the trees and grabbed some beers from our buddy Jacob. He seemed upset that we brought a meager amount with us and insisted that we drink from his supply. Free, cold beer, who’s to complain, right? We settled our asses into lawn chairs and on top of coolers and began the process of chillin’ like villains.

Shortly thereafter, the fun began. Everyone revved up their quads (ATVs) and was ready to kick some mud. One of the guys had the bright idea of roping a row boat behind his quad and had some of us get in for a ride. You better believe I got in on this excitement, rode with a friend (Stella) on her quad as well as in the row boat.

Things were going great, other than the third time I went in the row boat. Now, I’m not a petite little woman. I’m not ‘large,’ I’m just fucking big: 5’8” and 150 pounds. These wise guys thought it was a good idea to arrange me and two petite females (one was a freaking teenager) so that we were off balance. The teenager and I took the back, she took left side. I swear to fuck that this girl wasn’t even two-thirds my size.

Guess. What. Happened.

We flipped.

Shocking.

Mind you, we flipped on solid fucking ground. I didn’t even have time for my life to flash before my eyes because one second I was sitting upright in the boat and the next second I was collapsed face first in the dirt. I managed to crawl away with just scrapes, bruises, and a cut open toe. No, don’t worry, my toe is fine. I’ll pretend you actually care about my toe. However, that poor teenager apparently had scoliosis and she had to sit for a few hours because that shit wrecked her back’s happiness for a while there.

After that, the day went smoothly. We all kept mudding and drinking until the sun went down--loads of fun. And, no I never saw that teenager drink alcohol, her mama (Stella) would’ve had her ass.

As for the rest of us, we were all good and tatered by the time the sun was setting. Tons more people had showed up and parked their vehicles in a scattered mess in a large sand spot Graveyard has that’s great for partying. It was July 2nd and we were all there to party.

I did a bunch of socializing bullshit before gravitating to a beer pong table. The pong table was a sausage fest, and the men in my area can be sexist, so I just settled in so I could watch for a little while.

This guy with a good sense of humor struck up a conversation with me and we climbed on some rando’s tailgate (most likely the guys that brought the table) and plopped our asses down to watch some games and drink. The dude said his name’s Blake and we shook hands because that’s what friendly and respectable motherfuckers do. We chit-chatted for a while and the guys at the table weren’t allowing anyone to claim downs (Blake was one who tried). Downs, if you don’t know, is the right a team has to play winner.

For some reason, everyone started getting heated and so my drunk ass ducked out. I’ll be honest, after this point in time things began to get a little fuzzy and then progressively more fuzzy. I wandered between groups of people, talking to individuals that I knew. I lit off a few fireworks with some people I’d never met, and I was introduced to some of Blake’s friends. Surprisingly, I already knew one of the two folks. I had met her the summer prior, and knew she likes to go by the name Flower.

Things got even fuzzier and harder to recall as I drank more so I’ll do my best to accurately recall what happened after this point.

I’ll be the first to admit that I do dumb shit when I’m inebriated. Oh god, especially when I drink beer. Some people say that their worst experiences are with tequila or rum. Well, I’m that dumbass that has the worst judgment when drinking beer.

Somehow I ended up in a fight. You’ll never guess who it was with; Blake. That nice guy with a sense of humor. At some point I was pretending to jab at him and he lazily blocked. Play fighting. Then I decided to get serious--whoever the fuck knows why. This poor guy, this poor guy, this poor guy...

People gathered around us and we moved into the mud. We literally ended up standing in several inches of mud and muddy water on top of it. I hit him, a lot. I would say I hit him eight to ten times, dude could really eat hits. A few times he dodged and I lost my balance (drunk, duh) and fell in the mud. It felt like the earth was swallowing me each time and I had to fight to un-suck myself from its grip. At one point he grabbed me and threw me into the mud, all smiles, we were both having a great time. Our audience didn’t seem to feel the same way about our fight. People were taking SnapChat videos with their phones, putting us up on their stories and shouting that Blake should hit me back. I mean, I completely agree, and I tried to get him to hit me back. The chivalrous butthole refused and just ate my hits, instead.

This entire ordeal lasted maybe a couple of minutes and we were both covered in mud by the end of it. I tackled him into the mud at one point, he wasn’t coming out of the fight without being covered head to toe in mud, too.

The last time I got stuck in the mud, one of the rude guys from the pong table stepped in and started wrestling Blake. I eventually gave up and wandered off.

I didn’t get far before I realized something terrible: my hand hurt like a motherfucker. Jacob intercepted me as I was walking and cradling my hand. He took it and turned it over in his own, checking it out. He said it looked bad, but was probably only bruised (it was and is not bruised).

I managed to find some ice from a friend and was icing my hand when I encountered Blake once more.

Things turned bizarre from there, honestly. He and I were buddy-buddy. We cuddled briefly on the bed of someone’s truck, watching a bunch of people set off fireworks and we even kissed (???). It was just a little kiss, but a kiss all the same. We were both ridiculously muddy so we went and waded in a deep pool of muddy water further in Graveyard. The water helped some, but mud was super stuck in my hair. We ended up just swimming. We parted ways after a short while and I attached myself to my friend Charlie, a big guy that never fails to take care of me when I need it.

I had been drinking more as I had wandered around icing my hand. I blacked out shortly after attaching to Charlie. Yeah, not my most admirable moment, but most of us have experienced drinking too much.

The next day I woke up in my bed, Charlie had driven me home in my truck. I could barely move, everything ached. My hand was obliterated. Turns out I have a boxer fracture and I shifted my joint so the bone faces a different angle than it’s supposed to.

The day after that, Blake found me on Facebook and asked me on a date. He had a black eye, a lip split in two places, and all kinds of other bumps and bruises that I presume are from me.

Don’t worry, if you think I wasn’t punished enough with a body that finally stopped aching yesterday, know that this has been my shittiest week in ages. The repercussions of last Sunday are only part of why.

Our date is actually today. We’re going to see Spider-Man Homecoming and to get dinner afterward. Yeah, I know I’m a shitty person. Maybe, just maybe, things will work out. Wish me luck.

Sincerely,

Jay

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