redeyevision

Time again to revisit upon you tales of upper respiratory woes, for it's all I can do to fight the good fight against the cunningest virals inhabiting my most moistest places.

But then I think about Darfur and I have trouble owning up to these frivolities.

It doesn't matter, I can't handle thinking about either one.

Back to the moisture issue however, I once dated a girl in Lexington, quite a while actually, who was much troubled by the word moist. The sound of it grated her I think, probably made her think about sweat and very possibly that sweat being genital sweat, which publicly, we all don't really like to think about.

So I've got hang-ups too.

My current preoccuaption being that I've never tried heroin not even once and feel emboldened yet mystified with this experience. That experience being that I've never tried it. It is like some high to me.

What's the saying? I'm much too old to feel this damn young.

At least that's what dad said. I guess he meant that fowl youthful cravings should be carved out long ago.

But we both know that there's nothing more exhilarating than feeling self-righteous.

And so I will travel to Thanksgiving next week feeling much alive (if congested) and blessed.

As I will look across the table at my banker uncles, I can't help but think once again, "What the Fuck!"