Disclaimers for language in the first few moments of this.  Hello – Rated R.

I was driving into Athens on Atlanta Hwy today at noon.  Anyone who lives in town already knows I’m a fucking idiot.  I, however, in the moment, am just an idiot. I know it at the first cardboard “Parking $15” sign attached to a sketchy parking lot that usually sells 1983 Toyota Corollas for $500 down! I didn’t realize UGA v GA Tech was in Athens ((pounds nail into eyeball … the SEASON WILL NEVER END)).  I frantically think that I will.not.burst.into.tears.  I’ve seen forty-seven red Solo cups and my moment versus their inebriation.  Fuck it.  Won’t.Burst.Into.Tears.

I just wanted a fucking burger, and to poke around in a couple of cute, local stores.  Small business Saturday and all that.  Wanting some time in the world with my guys.  A change of scene.  Whatever – no parking for miles and the smell of vodka and cheap beer all over the place.  Gahd.Damnit.

I’ll try and stop swearing now.

I can look at December at see non-work commitments for 20 of the next 25 days.  Things that make me happy, but that take up space on my calendar no matter what.  People I want to see, concerts and parades I experience as a viewer and a participant, all sorts of things.  I know my time is precious, my energy is low, and still I want to have a sense of Christmas that is not just a harried schedule.  Late November and early December in Georgia still feel like an Illinois early October but today seemed like a good day (until that fucking cardboard sign … sorry).

I cried on the way to get Mexican instead of Clocked.  I cried in the bathroom when we got home.  I cried as Jeff grew bored of hitting dead trees with sticks when I still had plenty of energy for the task.  I was sad.  I’m was about the lack of dad, the lack of snow, the lack of tradition, the lack of spirit, the lack of time, the lack of energy, the lack …. so.much.lack.

Jeff had gone inside to be Batman while I hit dead trees with dowel rods.  The ends of branches flew away from me and there was sun and crisp air and it was ok.

Dave came down and pulled some heavy duty vines, he gave me more stuff to swing at.

He suggested the loveseat.  Not because I needed a cuddle (I didn’t) but because it had been sitting behind the shed for 18 months waiting for demolition.  So, with his help, it came into tiny bits.  He’d done most of the work already, but the stuff that needed an ax or a blade-on-a-stick (gahd I like that thing) and some general hacking and tearing was work that was waiting to be done.

Then, in the fire … space … deemed “Southern Living’s Least Interesting or Attractive Fire …. Space” he lit shit on fire.  Old papers, old loveseats, old ideas, old definitions.  It burned high, and long, and cathartically.

I felt better.

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