My first free summer since 17… IJ so I. New golf bag (man purse). Initiate. Pontificate. I JUST HAD THE BEST SUMMER SINCE I WAS 17 YEARS OLD because I quit my job. (Middle finger proudly extended.) I spent two weeks drunk trying to get rid of the evil farie who told me, “I should be doing S O M E T H I N G .” Then… I stopped listening. I actually did NOTHING for quite a while – for the first time in a long, long, long time. I read a book. I baked some bread. I sorted screws and nails in my workshop. I watered plants (and talked to them). I found some S P A C E ! Then, my gay college friend from New Orleans visited, I took an art class, I went to Capture the Flag, I got REALLY DRUNK at the Trout Lake Country Inn, I went to the dentist and realized I didn’t have health insurance any more, I went to The Oregon Country Fair and met new people and partied like I was the Captain of Treasure Island. ARRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRR! After all that, I went to Zig Zag Mountain and wrote my first song to a standing ovation. The weekend after that, I should have gone to Moses Lake for the bluegrass festival, but I was too drunk. The first weekend in August: Trout Lake Fair. I fell down on my accordion. (My heart was broken by the lack of family.) Weekend after that: BACON PARTH. Meat wrapped in meat covered with meat sauce. (Chiron, you know what I’m talking about.) Got kicked out. I’m apparently too old. Next weekend: Stay home and rest. Call my sister and say some dumb ship. (Sorry sis.) Tuesday, August 20. Lincoln and Alicia brought me a bottle of wisdom and I cried. (I’m still crying.) Then, my sister came to visit. We did nothing more than talk and take a stupid picture. But, it was the very best. FAMILY. (I don’t get a lot of that.) Heart strings plucked. Highlight. And then: my Zeppa, my Zeppa, so good, so good. Can’t believe you’re still alive. My Zeppa. Fishy, fishy, fishy, fish. Dave Clarke and I will ALWAYS bring you, “Four More Beers.” The next day: Jesse and the street kid clowns. Rhododendrons. A dream that abounds. I think there’s something here. It resounds. Play me a song, Mr. Rhododendron. And here we are, another weekend… the LAST weekend of the summer. Lucy is gone. Puck is wiser. I’m 52. I don’t drink Budweiser. I now make pizza whenever I please. Give me more. Give me more. Give me more. Cheese.
Posted on: Sat, 31 Aug 2013 08:02:49 +0000
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