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don’t you hate it, when being a grownup has you all serious and shit, has you all worried and confused, has you slowing down past the pawn shop knowing that that water bill has to get paid somehow, thinking, at that next stoplight, you better start digging for change in order to dig up the six dollars necessary to get a gallon of gas in your worn down dirty old car, enough to get you home in time to make dinner out of lemons and ricotta and lucky charms: it keeps you doing crazy things, like spurning the blog that loved you, like looking so hard for a vacation that you’ll even settle for a virtual vacation, to some far off name that hasn’t been tarnished by that reputation for falling for the bad guys, for poking and prodding just long enough to find the holes in their armor and then running and crying like a little girl whose fairytale has just been punctured, whose aesop’s fables have just come to life at midnight when the door to her room is closed and she’s given up the night light after decided she was too old for that, somewhere along the line all those long winded morals got in the way of her love for the fairytales…
June 1, 2006 at 4:22 AM ::
I miss Goliard.
'mouse on 05/31/07 at 07:40 PM ::
Your words are truer than you might imagine, as I caught a glimpse of her sneaking around here today. Like my youth, she was here one minute, gone the next.
Keith on 05/31/07 at 08:13 PM ::
(Sigh.) Like a will o’ the wisp.
And, ‘mouse? Hell, yes. Me too.
boot on 06/01/07 at 02:15 AM ::
It’s true. She’s been here, or rather there. I’ve never known anyone so proficient with a delete key…
boot on 06/01/07 at 05:01 AM ::