Nothing To See Here – “Fading Out”

 

c. 2024 Rod Ice

All rights reserved

(1-24)

 

 

Three o’clock in the morning.

 

As I sit in front of my computer early on a Tuesday, the gravity of being at work long after my cerebral synapses have begun to fall asleep is evident. While sunrise is distant at this hour, I am still edgy with anticipation for the new day that lies ahead. My need to exorcise demons of boredom and futility has been satisfied with YouTube clips of Jerry Springer, vintage car reviews, and Johnny Carson anecdotes. This foray deep into the vast emptiness of night has left me unarmed, in a sense. Yet still able to cope. I am at the desk in my home office, awake enough and active enough, to strike the wireless keyboard with purpose.

 

Should a drunken scholar try to compose a manuscript at such a late hour? Probably not. But regardless of that truism, here I go...

 

Basic biology has an overwhelming effect on the human mind. This is something I have learned over years spent pondering my own existence as a mortal being. When I chug beer of a full-strength variety, and eat Ramen noodles or some other satisfying, starchy meal as a compliment, the result always comes as a fall from dietary grace. I get food fatigue, crash in my bed or some other convenient spot, and snore away an interlude between famine and feasting.

 

Then, my energy levels reset.

 

This paradigm was in effect tonight as I had a bowl of Sapporo Ichiban Miso Ramen, after two bottled brews, and a few extra rounds from my refrigerator stash of cans. The carbohydrate blast hit my bloodstream with enough intensity that I fell on my face, soon afterward. But the period of slumber that followed did not last too long. I was down around seven o’clock, and back up only a couple of hours later. When conscious again, I felt cranked and driven to survive the event with impunity. I took a seat at my desk, with a fresh ration of suds, and embarked on an adventure that was unplanned and impulsive.

 

Getting blitzed after passing out has a peculiar charm, as experiences go...

 

I started to drink while watching videos via my Roku device. The late Gerald Norman Springer was still very much alive, in cyberspace. His familiar voice tickled my ears with seedy stories of interpersonal conflicts, and making a career out of letting everyday people express themselves honestly, in a forum without pretentiousness.

 

“So today we start our 25^th year of doing this show. My gratefulness surpassed only by my surprise. My surprise at its longevity. How in the world did we last so long? Let’s be honest, virtually anyone could do what I do. Which is to basically say three things. ‘You did what? Come on out! We’ll be right back!’ You practice that and you’ll be hosting your own show in no time! Oh, there is one other thing that brings success. Luck, lots of it. And surround yourself with smart, talented people who know a heck of a lot more about television than I do. Look, I’ve been blessed through these 25 years to have people of enormous talent and drive producing a show of constant challenges which can’t be saved day to day by simply booking a big-name celebrity. You see, we don’t have any on our show. No, just regular folks of no fame, little if any wealth, and very little influence. Folks just taking a moment which they rarely if ever get, to let the world know about what they are thinking or feeling or doing. Admittedly it is often outside the norm of accepted behavior, but what I have learned over our quarter-century of shows, is that deep down, we are all alike. Some of us just dress better. Or had a better education. Or better luck in the gene pool of parents. I’ll say it again. Deep down, we are all the same. We all want to be happy, we cry when we’re hurt, we’re angry when we are mistreated, and to be liked, accepted and respected, not to mention loved, is the greatest gift of all. Yes, we’re all alike. Know this, there’s never been a moment in the 25 years of doing this show that I ever thought I was better than the people who appear on our stage. I’m not better, only lucky. So, thanks for the 25 years. We’ve signed on to do a whole bunch more. And as long as I stay healthy, we will. And on that note, take care of yourself and each other.”

 

As four o’clock approached, I had lost my trill. In the slang terms of tavern culture, my taste for beverage alcohol. I quit drinking while the clock ticked away, in a march toward sunrise. It seemed impossible to contemplate that half of a day had elapsed since I sat in front of the television in my living room, watching news reports from Cleveland media affiliates. But the reality squeezed my brain. I had moved from one end of my home to the other, and traded live programming for reruns-on-demand. Everything else remained the same.

 

Before surrendering to fatigue, I sent out an e-mail message to friends in New York State as a final gesture of consciousness.

 

“Hey, I’m still awake here, forgive me for not making a late call. One or more of you might have still been at the viewscreen, possibly. Perhaps we could have enjoyed a meaningful conversation. Yet I am buzzed, to say the least. I reckon that discussing anything coherently would have taxed my gray matter at the moment. My head is clouded with bullshit right now. Hops and grains and too much sodium and fatigue. I can’t see straight. The furnace keeps cycling on and off and on again. It must be cold outside. This is January, after all. I’ve been stuck inside for weeks, just the occasional moment out on my bench for a respite. Warmer months lie ahead, I know that might not excite you so much, but it makes me giddy with thoughts of fresh air and basking in the solar glow. I need that kind of rescue to clear the cobwebs. Take it easy, friends. Be well and safe!”

 

Motor vehicles were passing my mobile home now, as the rush to stay on schedule had returned with vigor. The work routine of a day being birthed was beginning. I coughed and spun around in my office chair, while straining to read the clock on my computer. Soon, daylight would be streaming through the windows. I needed to crash.

 

I hobbled through my trailer while fading out, like a spent candle. My time at the keyboard was done. Another chapter of the saga had been written and filed away.

 

Now, it was time to greet oblivion.