I do the best I can.
That’s going to have to be enough.
Of course, it never could be, could it? The list of shit I’ve left undone grows longer day by day. Maybe that is what getting older means. Although it should be the other way round, shouldn’t it?
I’m running in place.
I got a tender regard for the humans I know. I love my wife and no matter what I will continue in this regard. I have used what strength and goodness I’ve got in me to raise up my kid, and although nobody could call it a success, she’s alive right now and she’s happy and she’s got a damn fine baby to call her own.
We’re all of us cashing checks, hoping they won’t clear till we’ve got a little something in the bank.
I kid around saying come sit by the fire, bring a beer, watch the sparks rise up spiraling into the star mad vault of the night sky. Like we’re friends. Like it matters.
Well, I say you are. I say it does.
The provisional and half-broke is the good stuff.
Just like us.