Currently Listening Bringing Down the Horse By The Wallflowers "One Headlight" see related

Long enough ago that I don’t remember when: it was then that I knew I’d never be the same again. It was the catalyst that meant I could sell my cave to Fred or Barney. Instead of listening to overprotective good intentions of the maternal, I now hear the Word’s representative’s interventions of the fraternal. I’ve never gotten fully-accustomed to waking on the Moon and nodding off into the Sunrise. For almost ten years, I have broken the natural law of overnight slumber. I hope to sleep at dark again; long before Social Security goes under.

I do not think my time a waste. I put my better foot forward and hope neither will go to waste. So they last longer, I seek out the Patron Saint of Feet and Podiatric Fetishes at his charming place. It will hurt so much, but after he’s done - not even a little. The effects don’t last forever, but the reprieve is our endeavor. I wonder if an apprentice is somewhere without that can learn this discipline from him, though I’ve had my doubts. Until then, me and the big fella meet at his home for therapy. Thanks to the Light…

If I say that it’s cold, then listen up. Because I am the last to think and say that it is so. Two Green Christmases in a row; where the hell was all this snow 2 months ago? Born under blizzard conditions; 29 years later, I’m fearing ungodly road conditions. Mother Nature wants to ice over my Birthday’s parade route. I discover fast enough that a path is cleared for me; good thing, because I’ve long since had enough of slip-sliding away. Where is the key that will unlock the door to my 29th wish come true? The actual day sucked, aside from the knowledge that I still had Friday and Saturday to get through. That Sunday was a dream. I saw Giant men win and heard Patriotic losers scream. It meant very little to me, because Cubs are hibernating, and Bear Season is longtime dead and buried. Like a Batman out of Hell, I flew to get the festivities underway. Nothing was supposed to touch this day. I was spinning my wheels, wondering if I’ll get to find asylum sometime today.

I strive to ignore the cold, as my Olds barely manages to heat me up. I turn on my Batmobile v3.5, and offer thanks that she hasn’t given up. Its new-car smell is 8 years gone, and nearly 50,000 miles have been put on. At forty miles each way, what I earn and put in my gas tank just burns away. In about a week, I’ll be working somewhere else. I pray to the gods that I’m not just exchanging Hells. A change of venue could still mean no longer on the folk’s land and become all at sea. Since money doesn’t grow on trees, I will look into the hospitality of the Seven Seas.

“The Wheel weaves as the Wheel wills.” If I get to sail away, it still won’t qualify as “too far away.” I’ll write to you from everywhere I go. When I’ll be shoving right off for home again, you’ll be the next to know. I’ll miss a lot of people from where I feel at Home. All the same: we will meet again, by the Graces of the Creator and the Light...