Gut Rumbles

July 01, 2009

three years---tres anos

Originally PUBLISHED July 18, 2004

I did something last night that I haven't done in a long time--- three years, in fact. I slept like a rock for ten straight hours. I left the windows open on my bedroom and fell asleep to the sound of the surf rolling onto the beach. I believe that the sound rocked me like a baby in a cradle.

I awoke this morning to a beautiful sunlit day. I took a shower, walked down to the tiki restaurant at the hotel and had a fine breakfast of eggs, pancakes, rice and black beans and fresh fruit. I actually woke up HUNGRY for a change.

I went back to my room and watched the final round of the British Open, which was a thriller if you like golf the way I do. Watching that tournament made me remember something that I'll get to in a minute.

After Todd Harrison beat Ernie Els in a playoff, I switched off the television, donned a bathing suit and challenged the Pacific Ocean to a fight. I got my Cracker ass whipped. I thought the surf was something at Tamarindo, but it's pussy stuff compared to Jaco. I got a full body massage from waves that knocked me ass over teakettle more than once. It was fun, but about 30 minutes of that beating was all I could stand.

I went back to the beach, stretched out on a towel and read for a while, until the incoming tide threatened to wash me away. I packed up my stuff and went back to the tiki restaurant, where I had Chef Isadora cook me a hamburgosa grande, with papas fritas and a cold cervesa. Man, that was good.

After I ate, I went back to my room for a brief siesta on my luxurious, king-sized bed. I napped a while, took another shower and went to lounge around the pool, just to check the wimmen in bathing suits scenery. The scenery was very nice.

Three years ago, during the last round of the British Open, I was in a seedy motel room with $60 to my name. My wife, who I loved with all my heart, had just told me that she wanted a divorce and I truly believed that my life was shattered. I KNOW what heartbreak feels like. I had a wild animal caged in my chest that was trying to claw its way out. The pain was more than I thought I could stand. I wanted to die.

So, I tried to kill myself, and I did a pretty good job of it, except for one small detail: I didn't die.

After the British Open concluded this morning, I walked outside in my bathing suit, a towel draped over my shoulder and a book in my hand. I gazed at the Pacific Ocean. Bejus, but it was beautiful. I thought, "I'm glad that I didn't die when I wanted to. I would have missed this."

Three years--- tres anos--- a lot can change during that time. It hasn't been an easy road to travel and that bloodless cunt Jennifer keeps fucking with me every chance she gets, but the worst is over. I can handle whatever happens next. All she can do now is go after my money and deprive me of my son. That sucks, but it's not a wild animal in my chest trying to claw its way out. Life has been rough for the past three years, and it's not going to be a picnic for a while longer.

But for right now.... it sure is nice at Jaco Beach.

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