Dancing With Cancer
I'm huddled up around most of my worldly possesions right now. If consolation had an arch nemesis, his guns would be a-blazin' at the ole edifice tonight. It boggles my mind the amount of rediculous items I have not only amassed over my ~cough~ 55 years, but also RETAINED. Some of the little things in these boxes I can remember from when I still lived with my mother in Frankenmuth. That was 11 years ago. I've moved a lot since then. Since Saginaw and the first Frankenmuth house, there were two more houses in Frankenmuth, St Clair Shores, two homeless stints in New Baltimore, and now the Mt Clemens chapter of my vagabond novel is coming to and end. But I digress.
"The further you push me, the closer you are. Maybe should I try to let go, maybe I should try to walk away." Sorry, I'm listening to Just Surrender, and that line came on, and I found it ironic.
There's a whole lot of catharsis I would like to spill into the blogosphere, but at the risk of hatching humiliating amounts of unnecessary recrimination, I think I'll show the same out-of-character self restraint I exercised at the Apple Store with my credit card and just say "maybe next time". I would like to say that my efforts, emotional and otherwise, are being spread cross country like blind messenger pigeons.
Somewhere in between the first morning I woke up alone and the last night I spent in revelation, a transformation has occured. The name under the thumbtack on the map reads Morris, but there's a sticky note attached as well. I can't read it though, because it's curling back, and I don't care to know anyhow.
When I come back to read this, remember that the road is long and hard, the second hand never stops, and trains and satellites are the most marvelous of inventions...
"The further you push me, the closer you are. Maybe should I try to let go, maybe I should try to walk away." Sorry, I'm listening to Just Surrender, and that line came on, and I found it ironic.
There's a whole lot of catharsis I would like to spill into the blogosphere, but at the risk of hatching humiliating amounts of unnecessary recrimination, I think I'll show the same out-of-character self restraint I exercised at the Apple Store with my credit card and just say "maybe next time". I would like to say that my efforts, emotional and otherwise, are being spread cross country like blind messenger pigeons.
Somewhere in between the first morning I woke up alone and the last night I spent in revelation, a transformation has occured. The name under the thumbtack on the map reads Morris, but there's a sticky note attached as well. I can't read it though, because it's curling back, and I don't care to know anyhow.
When I come back to read this, remember that the road is long and hard, the second hand never stops, and trains and satellites are the most marvelous of inventions...