There are precisely 983,388,278 people who didn’t read the Best Five Minutes and one of them may be you.
Made a promise to dad that I am struggling with because one aspect is open to interpretation and my interpretation involves a plane, train or automobile ride and a horse’s head.
But there are those who probably would prefer I not exercise that particular interpretation.
And just when I think I’ll focus on writing I remember Come Monday.
Take a deep breath, think about the coming chaos and remind myself I pulled off a few things today, ran into Hell covered and gasoline and came back out.
Ask myself how many times I can go back in and do it again and remind myself that you only get hurt when you let fear run the show.
So the question of whether it is a grudge or justice is put on hold or something like that.
I made a teenage boy laugh so hard he almost choked or maybe that was me. Laughter like that is so restorative and one of the three ways I would gladly choose to use as my final moments.
Hit the gym for a shorter workout and pushed hard to get my reps done in less time. Not moving at the speed I want to on the elliptical, but getting measurably faster.
Floating through an adrenaline filled high, eyes closed a new series of memories passes through my internal movie theater.
Intermixed in it all the bells go off and I look up in a particular direction and think back to the drive back from Fort Worth.
Passed a Double Dave’s Pizza that I didn’t know was there and thought about the one I used to occasionally hit in Grapevine. It was always after a quick run to Target that often took place 40 or so minutes after landing at DFW.
This place always used to feel kind of dreamlike and temporary. It was somewhere I was but it wasn’t clear how long it would be for.
The roots are a little deeper now especially as my baby prepares to learn how to drive, talks about whether she’ll go to school in Texas and a future that used to be light years away.
John Dean tweeted his own two cents about impeachment and I thought about how dad would have had plenty to say about this.
Somewhere in time, just after he died I wrote about how Trump might be dumber than a meatball and got a ridiculous response about how it was insulting to Italians and a suggestion for what I could do.
I wish I still had that email because it would have made awesome blog fodder and I would have had great fun with it.
Not that I didn’t give the writer a healthy mouthful of words, thoughts and ideas because I wouldn’t let such a fine person go home empty handed.
If you’re new to this joint you may not know that is my hand. I slipped on a couple of stairs and my right index finger declared mutiny and refused to carry its share of the load.
I tried to fix it myself.
Tried grabbing and tugging on it but I couldn’t get the angle right, at least not the way I thought it should be so I called it in.
Made an appointment for urgent care and drove myself to the joint.
Sometimes when life is challenging I remind myself I tried to reset that sucker and then I remember it is the third time I have tried and decided to let someone else help.
Right index, left and right ring fingers- one fall, one football injury and one basketball.
Made the tackle and blocked the shot which is of no real significance to anyone but me so the slip and fall really sucked.
Got no glory to fall back upon, just my own clumsiness.
My BIL the doc says I probably have arthritis in my index finger or at least he did when I asked why I would wake up and find that sucker thick with fluid and awkward for about a year after the fall.
I told the arthritis to come out of my b0dy and fight me for the privilege of free rent. It refused and after a time it went away…mostly.
Sometimes it comes back so I use my hand grip and work on strengthening my grip so that I never lose use of it or so I hope.
Told my index finger to remember who the boss is and that someone might confuse a grudge with justice.