Bless This Mess

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Once a week I'd pull out the little old nine-inch TV my parents had given me, balance it on a chair, and watch Roseanne in grainy black and white. When it was over I'd unplug it and put it back in the closet. I was in a weird state of mind. I'd listen to records by Brasil '66 or the Tijuana Brass and draw comics all evening. The comics just came out of me. I'd stack them up, and when I had enough pages I'd go down to the copy shop and put out a new issue of King-Cat.

At 11 each night I'd go to bed on an old springy mattress. Outside, the night sky went past, full of stars, the moon, luminous clouds. The world was a magical place.

I'd work all week, and on Fridays it was like letting out a long-held-in breath. Sometimes I'd drive in to Chicago to see friends or hang out with my girlfriend, but increasingly I just stayed at home. I enjoyed my solitude and the quiet apartment. I enjoyed making comics.

On Saturday mornings, I'd go downtown to the Salvation Army and look for new Tijuana Brass albums, or Captain and Tennille. There was no shortage of these things. I'd buy strange objects for a dollar and bring them home. Life was good.

On fall evenings, I'd wander through my neighborhood: the weird little houses, the church, children's bikes knocked over on front lawns, pickup trucks on gravel driveways. Who were these people -- my neighbors? Above me the sky rolled mysterious, the Midwestern sky in fall. The world crackled with energy, and the energy was in me. The energy and the world and I were one.

Sometimes after work we'd go down to the Twin Tavern and drink beer, order onion rings, and wait for our sausage sandwiches. Men in flannel jackets and baseball caps sat at the darkened counter, a silent TV set flickering in the corner, unwatched. This was like a dream come true. We'd laugh and eat and step outside into the nighttime air, say so long with our bellies full of beer and good food, the moonlight shining bright through cold backlit white clouds.

The Twin Tavern had pinwheels in the urinals that spun when you peed on them. It just didn't get better than that.

Still, I wasn't totally satisfied. I thought I could be more free. My job made me increasingly numb -- I could laugh about it, but inside I knew it wasn't for me. What I wanted was to feel each day, to really live each day. It was an abstract concept in my head, but it was pulling me along toward something.

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