I'm pushed into the coils of my bed. Musical notes take my head down into the pillows. My fingers hit the keys that bring up the facebook status of ex-girlfriends. (I've heard many a man suffers from this dexterity deficiency.) The scientific name is Terminus Reflecticus.
"And you may ask yourself, 'how did I get here.'"
In fact, how did I? What chemical deficiency lies in wait in my cerebrum? Springing to life to stave off the coupledom. Is anything good enough?
Maybe it's not going to matter. If this computer stays on my lap, I'll be a guaranteed victim of testicular cancer. It can't be good to have the wireless signal traveling straight through one's genitalia. And what about the cell phones? Those waves going straight to the most important organ? This can't be good.
Breaking news: I'm going to the Red for November. I think I have a cabin rented with my buddy Mike Personick that will have wireless, so I'll be able to get work done in the evenings and on rest days. I'm going to be pretty useless over the next six weeks. My brain will be entirely devoted to fantasizing about an insane road trip.
There's a Common song with a line, "On the count of three, everybody go back to your fantasy," but while I was singing along, I exchanged the word family for fantasy. Call it a Freudian slip. Who knows? The Red will be book ended with several days spent with my grandparent on the Farm, and I'm immensely looking forward to it. I am relishing the ability to get out there and stay as long as I want. Seeing them as they get older is bittersweet. I know they're getting older and there's no guarantee on how much time I'll share with them from here on out, but seeing them makes me feel like I'm doing my part to maintain the connection while the opportunity exists.
I want to see some friends who are in St. Louis and Louisville as well, and for the same reason. Start young with the sense of urgency and life might be better spent. Start late and much of it might go to waste in that regard.
Goodnight, Abaluba lovers. Where ever you might be.
1 comment:
Whatever you do whilst living with mikey pee, don't get caught with a piss jug in your room. You'll never live it down. This is a pure hypothetical thought and no, I'm not talking from experience.
ps great post.
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