I’m really struggling. I know I got a little reprieve from the douchebags back home who read this blog on a normal basis because they didn’t bitch last week when I failed to post a blog on Tuesday. But now that it’s been two weeks, and I spent seven days of that in a foreign country just drinking and sitting, thinking on a beach, I still don’t have much to say.

I shouldn’t really say I don’t have much to say. I always have something to say. Just ask anyone who has gotten a voicemail from me.

I can talk. And I love to  hear my own voice. I’d be the guy being held hostage who the terrorist would either keep to get all the information from or kill first. Probably the later. I guess it’s because I’m not an in-between kind of guy, and it shows in my willingness to open my mouth, even when I 1) don’t know what I’m talking about or b) should just keep it shut because it’s going to get me in trouble.

But today, I have no idea what to write about.

I was on the treadmill earlier and trying to think about a good topic, but that didn’t go well. I wasn’t focused. I had only run twice in the past three weeks because of work and vacation, so I was a little off pace and then I had some bad gas. Oh, don’t act like you haven’t had to drop a bomb when you were working out. It’s like peeing in the pool. It happens. But, since it takes up all your thoughts trying to refrain from letting it happen, you don’t think about anything else. And I didn’t.

Last week I thought a bit about what I could write. That didn’t go well either. We just sat around every day and didn’t do anything except drink, read and chill. It was relaxing and wonderful, but there wasn’t anything really to talk about on this blog.

[Sidenote: I will have a photo blog that will debut Wednesday night and that will have more on the trip, so check my Facebook page for that, unless you’re one of the Islamists who enjoy reading this, and then I’ll post the link here as well.]

I guess I could talk about the one day we spent on the water with our guide, Harry, trying to get a glimpse of mantees and then doing some snorkeling. I seriously thought about writing something about that, but it’d probably be a downer to some degree because we were snorkeling two miles out into the sea and it was my first time in open water. I’d only really be able to write about how, as we cruised through the swaying sea, that I thought I was riding out to my watery death bed and was scared shitless. See, I am afraid of water. It’s actually my greatest fear in life–drowning.

See, like I said, it’d be a downer.

So, for the past hour, I have been trying to think of something that would be more upbeat to write about and then it became obvious. I should talk about our buddy in prison.

Yeah, I know that doesn’t seem to be that upbeat on the surface, but damn if he didn’t have me rolling before we left on the trip. I got a letter from him for the first time in a couple months and he was doing great.

I was on the floor laughing at the way he talked about his job working on the farm and going out riding horses. And how they had a four-bedroom house on the edge of the grounds that they lived in and it had a real bathtub. It was almost like he hasn’t been in prison for 20 years but has been just chillin’ on the range. Although all I could picture was barbed wire around a tub and it just went to hell from there.

I’ll just say that I’m positive if I was locked up that long I would have no where near his sense of humor. But he’s obviously getting by and it’s great to hear. Not every day is good, but whose is? He’s at least trying to be productive in any way he can and just keeping his nose clean, which he has since Day One being inside.

We can’t wait for him to get out, hopefully in a couple years. It’ll be great to have him join us for our poker weekend, and not just so Joe isn’t the only ex-con there (and I’m not just talking about the little stints in lockup; most of us at poker weekend have been there). Craig was a part of the group until college when he, um, had obvious issues–you don’t just get locked up for more than 20 years without having something wrong–but when he comes out, he’ll be right back into the group. It may be strange at first, but he’s still got his place. It’s just what we do, who we are, where we’re from.

And the first year he’s back, I’d like to think it’ll be the biggest, best blowout at poker weekend since forever. Maybe better than the poker weekend Tony got beat up by the strippers on stage for his bachelor party. Or maybe even rival the first year when it was just 40 consecutive hours of poker and drinking (and more drinking than poker from some of us).

It will be hard though. Those fun times, all the great things we’ve done, have taken a toll. I like to think of it as the story of Lady Time and the Ugly Liver. We’re getting old and all the partying has piled on quick.

Look at Carlson. Dude is 41 years old today. That’s fuckin old, people. And Aaron turned 40 last week, or so I heard. Dwin was last month. These fucks are really getting up there in age.

Want proof?

Check out this gallery through the first 16 years of CCMP. We did not take a picture of Year 1, but every year since, we have done a group picture just to immortalize the moment. And while I’m sure you won’t like what you see, if you are interested in knowing more about our poker weekend, you can now Like it on Facebook. Seriously?!?