it’s been a tick.

And honestly we didn’t want to start writing tonight…and for the WordPress logarithms ,you may be digesting this for longer than it’s relevant.

I know what you want me to write about. But Im not. I’ve given him a year to rest , because I cant…I need him to find a place in my soul to rest. You don’t hush a dragon…you let that power find it’s place to seek solace and then marvel at its beauty.

I’m not a writer. I’m a fuck. And I’ve been a skilled fuck for about 47 years now. For those of you who know me… I’m am admittedly an odd duck….for those who don’t and may have landed on this blog out of desperation and /or believing that “Dirty White Walls” was in some way associated with lonely white housewives.. the joke is on you.

I’m here tonight because it’s mid winter in Michigan. It’s this war of attrition between alcoholism and sanity and if you don’t live in the mitten , then you will find afore mentioned symbolism something of artistic license…for those in the throw of the Mit… we be drunk.

I get a lot of memories.

Facebook finds it’s duty to accent my grief.

Luckily each are force fed to me by Zuckerberg. ( Zuckerberg is in your autocorrect btw… forever guaranteed in the history of the world. When your kids misspell his name in class…. they will have no recourse… Mark made it so you couldn’t mess up his name. Not taking into account for those of Greek descent with names like Triantafyllidou… this name will literally give your spellcheck a hard on… but Ol’ Zuck will make sure his title and namesake are there with a screaming red hard on to fuck with your submission)

I wrote a couple years back about a couple of young kids in converse shoes chasing each other innocently. That summer friendship with some weird “My Girl” overtones. ( watch out for the pollinators). That’s what Mr. Zuckkerburg….Zurkerzwizel…. Ok , Zuckerberg has afforded me.

Each day I wake up and I see the memories. And I dread those I see with my friend. It’s a slap in the face. It’s not a big slap, but it’s a grieving slap because there is no denying how someone was so ingrained in your life. It’s a bitter reminder that all the stories you heard from your grandparents about losing “people” and how they changed you is now your story.

The sad thing is you keep trying to tell yourself that you are not repeating it.

But wait…I’m not old… I’m not…..

I just need time to heal… wait…

Time.

I have no concept

I’m 23

I’m 46

I lost my friend

I’m 2….screaming for my Mom because I’m afraid

I’m 46……and I’m a big boy now

I’m 46 wishing I was 2….

Then you wake up.

The dogs need to go outside and you need to get in the shower.

All these mundane things.

You stand in the shower and ask the universe to take….

take from me

my time.

my time to give my friend

time better spent

time I we both cant get back.

the time for one last drink and a smile

one last time around the world to ” up the academy”