|SCA or the Antichrist?
||[Jun. 25th, 2005|02:51 am]
You know, I can't really decide if the SCA has ever done anything good for me or not. So much fucking bullshit has come out of it.
I sat in a room tonight with two people who have known me for 15 years. Shit, they practically raised me.
I remember being 18 and having the biggest crush on one of them. Long black hair. He was married at the time. I loved his wife, too.
One night, we were out at The Library. I got totally freakin' plastered. I think it's the only time in my life I've ever gotten drunk enough to totally black out. The next day, I'm over there and he says "Hey, do you remember what we talked about last night?" I couldn't, for the life of me, remember. I was stumped. Then I got worried. "Oh shit...what did I say?", I was thinking. He said it was probably best I didn't remember. I spent a week wondering if I'd come on to him or something. Finally, I found out he'd confided in me about his own crush. Such was life at that time. I was always the confidant...never the object of anyone's affections. *snort*
This little circle of friends we had was...uhm...think of a game of spin the bottle and then imagine instead of kissing, it was more like "musical beds". We were a tight knit group, yeah.
The years went by and he and his wife split up. He's now married to the object of the previously mentioned crush.
Shortly after Morgan was born, it came to pass that I moved in with what, by then, was considered my SCA family. Gio, Pop and Todd. Life was pretty good for the most part. Occasionally Gio hit the sauce and broke a window, but we loved the old Dago.
In March of 1996, I went to Gulf Wars. It was my first war. I got hopelessly lost in Poplarville, MS. By 2am, after 10 hours of driving, I was tired and grumpy and actually feeling a little car sick. On a 22 mile gravel road, a car approached and I flagged it down. If they didn't know where to point me, I was just going to pack it in and head home. Imagine my surprise when they got out of the car dressed in garb.
There were 3 of them. One of whom had to be one of the prettiest boys I'd ever seen.
We made our way to camp and parted ways. I slept during most of the battle the next morning, but at court, I looked across a sea of people and saw him. *sigh*
That night, he rescued me from this realllllly scary dude and spent the night in my tent.
A month later, I went to visit him. His name was Nate. I guess you guys can fill in the blanks there.
But I digress.
So, tonight I spent the evening hanging out with Keith and Gio. Both of the punks have longer hair than I do now. We're all a good bit older and a lot more jaded, I suppose. 2 of us divorced, 1 widowed.
It was good to see the old fam again. Then I remembered...."Grab your women...here come the Trimaris Eagles!"
Trimaris isn't coming for me this time. I'm not interested in reliving that time. There won't be another gravel road.
In the last year or so, I haven't been terribly social. Occasional coffee with a friend. Sometimes I go by and visit old friends that I don't see often enough. Then I go hang with the old crew. Upon leaving, there is a lot of "don't be such a stranger" and exchanging of phone numbers and email addresses.
It'll probably be 6 months before I see any of them again. I just don't have the heart to stick around and remember that nothing will ever be the same.
I really just want to stay in my little bubble and if anyone's got a lamp with a genie in it...can I please borrow a wish of amnesia?