Some of you read this post and asked questions while others ignored it silently issuing thanks they did not have to figure out what would happen with an in-person encounter where 11 months of lock down would not be tested.
Had they asked me what I thought I would say to remember who walks the damn line and writes the damn letters about long rocky beaches and songs that make the world sing. Really Mandy, I am, I said the guy dancing in the ring of fire.
And then I would say you can submit now, or you can submit later. Hell you can read graphic accounts of what the near future holds and smile knowing your toes will be pointed with joy.
This is the point where I explain the fine folks at the play with pricks emailed me to say they will not be giving me the hot needle injection this week but only because of what happened last week.
So fuck Flying Ted who ran away while we were freezing even though his actions have nothing to do with my not getting my second shot this week.
I could tell you stories about what happens when cougars drink and what happens when cougars get high on life because they take joy in the presents gifted by my presence.
And to those who ask if I must always press buttons and play with fire the answer is as you wish or if it makes you feel good which is to say you aren’t getting a straight answer…today.
Maybe you’ll get it tomorrow or some other time, all depends on how I feel…maybe.
Reminds me of Groucho wooing women.
“I can see you bending over a hot stove, but I can’t see the stove.”
That is the kind of line you ought to think about before saying because it might cause a reaction that is favorable and it might cause otherwise.
The fellas say I shouldn’t call myself almost middle aged because they suggest that means I’ll have to live to be at least 105 and I ask why not.
I might make it that far, but then again I might not. Something will finally get me but not in the many things will catch your eye but few will catch your heart kind of way.
Death, I speak of you.
Yes you bony, hood wearing, scythe carrying buffoon.
One day I’ll fail and fall and you’ll win the battle.
One day I won’t be able to stave off the hordes and I’ll be removed from verticality.
I don’t fear you or it.
I don’t want it to hurt but that is in context of degrees of pain.
Truth is I have gotten pretty damn good at living with pain of all different sorts. Been in anguish, agony, mild discomfort and some other place not described.
The fine folks ask if I ever thought of checking out and I said yes I have because I have been tired of this shit. But the same fine folks know that would require allowing others to win and I am far too competitive if not petty for that.
I like sticking around just so they know they lost and I won not to mention you never do know what might happen and that intrigues me more than a little.
Besides there are more good moments than bad and more hope than sad so what the fuck. Might as well stick around and make hay while the sun shines.
Maybe even make some whoopee though I must add I have never found a woman who thought that line sounded particularly interesting or offered any sort of intimate motivation.
Haven’t gone looking very hard with it so maybe I just haven’t come across them but then again I never did feel the need to.
Thinking about writing a post saying let me show you my world but sharing it only within the secret world because I like rolling with contradiction and confusion.
Kind of like how it was 74 today but a week ago it was about 75 degrees cooler. Would like to say that is an big exaggeration but it is not.
Never imagined life would be like it is and now can’t imagine some things not being. It is a hell of a ride which is why you need to hold on with two hands and keep your eyes opened.
And maybe, just maybe they’ll see what your heart sees and you’ll gain the gift of second sight.
Maybe.
