Comeback number eleven begins with madly registering for endurance events around the state. This is like learning to fight by taunting bullies. Send them harassing messages, talk about them in front of their friends, then three weeks later take a carefree stroll down their block after school. So stupid. I don’t even like events.

I’m all sheet-rocked into adulthood, with no way out except to run madly, blindly, into the walls and hope to not hit a stud. Eventually I’ m going to see daylight.

Like this post, sometimes you have to just blog your way out of a slump and get on with it, rather than wait for the precious stone forming in your bowels to drop.

Packing up to fly west for a 48 hour turnaround trip to Albuquerque. I have my court/church clothes pressed and rolled into my suitcase. It is the perfect Neo-Con disguise, but only I know where the glitter on the bottom of my black derbies came from.


4 Responses to XI

  1. Oh, man, I’m so glad San Felasco closed out before I could register. But I feel bad for you, J. Even if this is your preferred program. Careful; not much sheetrock on the Heech. Those walls can take you down, stud or no stud.

    Took a ride of the Munson/Twilight Zone perimeter among the couples and families Friday, then paddled my ass off with Sasquatch to get off the Aucilla by dark-forty-five Saturday. Rested on Sunday, like the Good Lord says to do.