Almost every Sunday, starting around 4 or 5pm,
a strong yearning for beer asserts itself. I’m lucky in that there are at least
two decent bars nearby – Boo Radley’s and The Three Speed. I’m partial to Three
Speed for a variety of reasons, including the fact that I can sit alone at the bar and not appear to be a sadsack extra in an Edward Hopper painting by virtue of
the fact that I know a few of the bartenders.
But instead of simply going to the bar every
Sunday like a normal person, I start a stupid little argument with myself about
mixing pleasure with productivity. Followed by vague Protestant guilt and concerns about eating healthy.
Anyway, last Sunday I decided that I would go
to Three Speed, regardless of the physical, spiritual and emotional
consequences that would rain down upon me. As always, I brought a notebook and
a pen.
The notebook and the pen are the main actors
in the lie I tell myself. That being, I’ll sit at the bar and get some creative
writing accomplished. Of course, about half the time I might as well be playing
Tic-Tac-Toe against myself. If I’m lucky, I’ll get a few ideas that are “Feed the tuna fish mayonnaise” caliber.
Every once in awhile, however, it actually
works out, and the lie is not a lie at all. Let me tell you – last Sunday evening
was a beautiful thing. Page after page of ideas, dialogue and description.
I’m pretty confident that the reason the ink flowed
in magic patterns was due to the simple fact that I haven’t sat down and
written for awhile. I also managed to not cram every last chore and to-do into
the weekend. Often I want a beer on Sunday because I’m tired and I want to
relax. The last thing I actually want to do is write. This time, it was the
only thing I really wanted to do, and I happened to have a few beers while doing
so.
