Peeling Back the Layers ... just another weak day in a retarded sea of many

So not too long ago, I was sitting at my favorite bar for another round at Happy Hour. I go there when I'm bored, thoughtful, or whatever. The regular rowdy crowd of red-cheeked bar goers surrounded me as I shot the shit with the bartenders. FYI, I am a firm believer in not "breaking the seal" until it is absolutely necessary. If you don't know what I mean, then this story is lost on you. Whatever, pints a plenty filled and emptied in front of me before I decided it was time to break the seal. I also find it to be a good sobriety check to go to the washroom. If my reflection in the mirror appears to be less than a 75 degree angle to the counter, it's a good indication that I am not going to drive anywhere. So there I am, ready to get up from my seat at the bar. I always leave a half pint at my stool, so no wise guy decides he or she can take my seat. Now, if you know me, you know damn well my feet ALWAYS dangle from a bar stool no matter what sort of footing is available. I'm just short like that. One other important note, if you happen to have read any of my other posts, you may be familar with my amazing ability to make a complete fool of myself in public. This day is no exception. In one fell swoop, I had my elbows off the bar, swung my dangling legs around the stool, stood upright, attempted a step forward ... oh damn. No step forward, why? You guessed it, my pants are at my ankles *facepalm* Seriously, I am lucky that my counter angle was only at about 85 degrees, otherwise my relatively graceful bend to yank my pants back up would have probably failed. I'm not 100% sure when I'll have the kahones to go back to that bar.

I suppose I can be thankful, in a way, for moments like that to distract me from the reason I found myself at the bar in the first place. It would be total denial to think that I actually go to the bar alone when I'm happy about anything. My brain gears twist a million miles a minute on stuff it shouldn't. What makes certain life events so very incredibly hard to get over? Is it a time thing? Can I put a number on the years needed to cleanse? Years of wasted affection and energy yielded layers created by the co-dependancy that I am slowly peeling away to recover the woman that was strong before the failed relationship. Sometimes I'm afraid I was never strong to begin with. I can only ride so many miles on my motorcycle thinking that it's theraputic for this broken soul. Somedays the smiles are masks. Most days the smiles are chemically induced. I want legit smiles. I want anything legit. I swear, Happy Hour is falsely named. How many times do I have to drop trow before I go bananas?!

Counter angle check during this post = 90 degrees ...