(8 pm. – promoted by ek hornbeck)
grampy does not live downstairs anymore. He does not have his workshop to fix things. He does not have the fun of the summer swimming pool, the deck the dogs jumped into the pool from. The 4 wheelers, the snowmobiles, the plastic PooBear that automaticaly blew bubbles, or the snowfort igloo maker nor any of those suburban trappings I used to make your life magical and fun. I have none of this stuff no more.
Yet at two your eyes light up and you scream my name with such excitement. It is gone now. Maybe, perhaps we have a year or so left and then what. Getting new jobs at 55 years of age. Starting over and that prospect of moving to remote cheaper rural America when ten bucks a gallon gas is imminent?
This baby boomers kids can’t make it like I did. He won’t have the opportunity I did. The normalcy I did. The compassion, the common sense.
What do I think tonight. How is my mood.
“Have a good one”
Have a good what?
What did you say to me?
“Are you fucking serious or fucking delusional or are you on designer psych meds.
“Have a good one?”
Check out the nuclear rain.
Yeah, that was nasty, even for me.