Shine, Proud Traveler, Shine

Shine, Proud Traveler, Shine

I hope this is the last substantial bit of writing I do about her.

Did my own drunken Michael Moore film festival last night. Four cans of Steel Reserve and two DVDs. Bowling For Columbine, Farenheit 9/11. I don't do that kind of thing nearly enough anymore.

I was up until 2AM. So I knew I'd be getting out of town late, what with all the shit I still have to do, so I went up to have lunch early and come back home to get ready. Go see her, Doug. Get it over with.

She looked a bit more tan than normal. Apparantly she spent much of yesterday at the track (I think the 500 is really only there so that half the city can go get drunk outdoors all at the same time for a whole weekend) with her ex. I wished her well. She said she's not getting her hopes up too high, but she wants to try one more time. Good for her.

She said her legs were hurting from yesterday. "Well, if you need a good long leg massage, you have my number." I gave her my best "and I'll make you come too if you want" smile. She laughed, her eyes lighting up the way they always do. I love making her laugh.

I enjoyed my coffee and realized something very good - nothing has changed. It IS good. We're back to where we started, just some goofball coming in and flirting around with her once a week, maybe a bit more depth to the conversation for a minute or two, nothing more.

And that's fine with me. I lost nothing. I gained another view into a part of myself, I gained emotional experience.

And a friend. I'm glad Amanda is my friend.

Seal it up. Closure. Time to move forward again.

So, anybody know any barely legal teens who want to fuck fat hairy 30-something bass players? LOL.

I think I'll do Rockin' In the Free World for the solo part of the gig tonight. Been a while. Moore's use of that song over the F9/11 end credits inspired me to think about it again. And hey, it's Neil Fuckin' Young. I never tire of him, or of playing his stuff.

A tinge of sadness when I left Steak & Shake, probably to be expected, but I dropped Wooden Smoke into the tape deck (I'm wearing the shirt now too) and Keneally brought me back to myself on the drive home. Sometimes I feel this convoluted web of emotions I go through daily as a curse, but when I can step back for a bit, I realize it's forming a lifework, a tapestry, a...uh...something else I can't write about without sounding extraordinarilly cheesy and pretentious. Shit. Ahh, fuck it. You know what I mean.

Hee.

Love,
Dougie

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