The More Things Change...
I sit here of a Saturday morn, wondering what the hell it must all be worth. Truth is, I am very lonely right now, missing my kids, especially my sweet Sara, and have no real plans to see them soon. Christmas is coming - Oh, GEE! Can I hardly wait, or what? Every fucking year it gets worse. Now it is in such a material mess that I am seeing Christmas decorations on (or before) Halloween. WTF? In front of our apartment, the city has kindly decorated the scraggly little tree that resides there with lights, and decorations are all over town. Makes me wanna puke...
So I am sitting here today with a cold Heineken draft, and feeling sorry for myself, I guess. I am severely depressed due to the weather, and I think all I truly need is a little sunshine on my soul to make shit right. My editor suggests a high intensity light, my Rosie wants me to go to the tanning place. The old Coon wants to just hie himself off to SoCal and be done with it. I want to lie on Mission Beach with a big jug of Gallo and watch the pretty girls in their tiny bikini's stroll the beach, and watch the boys trying to impress them. I want to join in on the evening bonfires - if they still have them - and drink myself silly. Instead, I have to sit here and cruise on the latest concoction of drugs my shrink gives me to insure I am a good little boy. The guy is a sick fucker, ya know? Never trust a raghead...
It is really bad this year. A lot of it stems from my choice of work. I write daily for DIY, and it pays me pretty damn well, thank you very much. My editor, a girl the age of my daughter, shows a bit of concern now and then for the state of my mental health, for which I am thankful. Thanks, Lauren. But it all comes down to the final analysis, doesn't it? I am unhappy, lonely, and all I do is sit here and bitch about it. My own fault, si? I wish that the old Harley was still sitting in the garage, for I would throw a leg over, and head for sunny climes. But the old beast has been gone for a number of years, and I miss her greatly. It never gets out of your soul. So the best I can do is just say fuck it, don't mean nothing. Drive on...
Charlie~
I sit here of a Saturday morn, wondering what the hell it must all be worth. Truth is, I am very lonely right now, missing my kids, especially my sweet Sara, and have no real plans to see them soon. Christmas is coming - Oh, GEE! Can I hardly wait, or what? Every fucking year it gets worse. Now it is in such a material mess that I am seeing Christmas decorations on (or before) Halloween. WTF? In front of our apartment, the city has kindly decorated the scraggly little tree that resides there with lights, and decorations are all over town. Makes me wanna puke...
So I am sitting here today with a cold Heineken draft, and feeling sorry for myself, I guess. I am severely depressed due to the weather, and I think all I truly need is a little sunshine on my soul to make shit right. My editor suggests a high intensity light, my Rosie wants me to go to the tanning place. The old Coon wants to just hie himself off to SoCal and be done with it. I want to lie on Mission Beach with a big jug of Gallo and watch the pretty girls in their tiny bikini's stroll the beach, and watch the boys trying to impress them. I want to join in on the evening bonfires - if they still have them - and drink myself silly. Instead, I have to sit here and cruise on the latest concoction of drugs my shrink gives me to insure I am a good little boy. The guy is a sick fucker, ya know? Never trust a raghead...
It is really bad this year. A lot of it stems from my choice of work. I write daily for DIY, and it pays me pretty damn well, thank you very much. My editor, a girl the age of my daughter, shows a bit of concern now and then for the state of my mental health, for which I am thankful. Thanks, Lauren. But it all comes down to the final analysis, doesn't it? I am unhappy, lonely, and all I do is sit here and bitch about it. My own fault, si? I wish that the old Harley was still sitting in the garage, for I would throw a leg over, and head for sunny climes. But the old beast has been gone for a number of years, and I miss her greatly. It never gets out of your soul. So the best I can do is just say fuck it, don't mean nothing. Drive on...
Charlie~
Labels: harley davidson, sad, sunshine, writing
posted by Charlie Allnut | 10:45 AM
0 Comments:
Post a Comment
<< Home