AGING TENNIS PRO

Sometimes I wonder why I get drunk. I know that the next day I will have to pay a steep price that I hate paying, but the moment seems to poignant to compromise with a future that promises nothing better than this instant.

I am the product of cheap thrills and that's the reason I refuse to deny myself the excitement of self-indulgence. Retiring to my own thoughts, I seldom desire the company of others at a favorite cantina unless it's the product of a spontaneous occasion.

I prefer the solitariness of sitting alone in my backyard with a beer in one hand, a cigarette in the other and my favorite music playing in the background. Then I surrender myself to the memories and regret that the best of my past isn't with me in the present.

With each gulp and each puff I dissolve into a melancholy that brings me a passing peace. Filled with nostalgia, I am tranquil. My addictions were founded on pleasure, but now they offer me a blissful escape into a no-man's land where I wander without direction.

Finally, I have had enough. I toss my half-empty can and flick my still burning cigarette into the darkness. Another challenge awaits me tomorrow. I haven't dived off the deep end tonight. I won't require a Xanax to return me to the surface in the morning. I haven' added to the burdensome guilt.

I retire to the bedroom and my sleeping wife with hopes of pleasant dreams. I have walked this path many times and I am familiar with every bend in the road.