Today is Tuesday. The day after tomorrow I leave at 6:00 am helping Grammy fly to the mid west. That’s less than 48 hours. Just now it seems to be hitting me and getting me . . . I can’t tell if I’m excited or anxious. Either way, I fully intend to enjoy myself and look forward to the down time. That free time will enhance some drawing skills and kick start some poetry writing. Bring it.
Love is hard. It doesn’t seem to matter if you’re starting a romance, in a relationship, getting out, or longing for one; each one comes with its advantages and disadvantages. None in that arch are easy or easier, for that matter. Every ounce of pleasure you get from the act is paid for in one way or another. Those payments usually come in the form of heartache . . . I need to stop this topic here. Forgive my vagaries.
Instead let’s turn to a topic that is easier. Art. Art, in the spirit of quirky writing, I love you. I was gonna add, “Why do you hurt me so?” But that seems over the top. Let’s start again. Art, I love you. I want to spend some more time with you and show off the fruits of that labor. For now, though, I will be doing other things. Things either directly related to the impending trip or intensely slacking. I’m not a betting man, but if I were, this here is gonna be a slackin’ morning. Art, you’re not allowed to get angry or be insulted; just like I’m not allowed to be ashamed or guilty. We’re gonna do this and we’re gonna reunite soon. Very soon. No resentments to poison the moment.
Dear reader, as you can tell, my mind is all over. I understand this particular blog post wasn’t that informative. Nor was it eventful. But that’s not what we’re here for, is it? We’re here to know I’m alive and I’m kicking and I’m progressing; albeit, at a leisurely pace. I’ve no intention of disappearing. If nothing else, take solace in that fact. That I’ll be here.