i wrote something a while back - not sure how far back. odd that i have no idea even if it was 3 months ago or a year and a half, but i mentioned something about the year i was nine being the best year ever, and everyone said i should write about being nine, what made it best, and i never did. and this doesnt even quite count, because i am certain that when i really sit down to write, the words will pour and pour. and i am very sorry to tell you that as i have been considering it for these few moments, well, never mind. that piece isnt ready to be written yet, because all my thoughts are about, "that was the year this negative thing stopped or hadnt started yet." and if the best damned year of my life as a child gets that title only because of what bad stuff didnt happen, well, i dont want to know that right this second.
i could post a poem, but its two pages long and i dont feel like transcribing. thats not true - i could transcribe just fine, if there were someone here to read it to me. but i dont feel like reading, typing, reading, typing.
oh, i can tell you i did karaoke last night. and no, i dont get tanked up. a little old man in town i talk to was there, as i knew he would be, because every week he walks past my house and encourages me to go. and he sang an elvis song and kris kristofferson song (love me tender and for the good times). its the anniversary of elvis's death today, you know.
i sang patsy cline's i fall to pieces, but i didnt know how to hold the microphone, and blew. then later i sang walking after midnight, and kicked ass, and thats a fact.
and my favorite singer in the whole wide world sang whitney houston's i wanna dance with somebody and he danced with everyone in the audience and was by far the biggest hit of the night.
ah, thats it for now. read greg's piece before i went to sleep, and i have writers group today, and it gave me the bug.