February in Texas this year finds me subjected to a brisk southern breeze that drives temperatures into the seventies and finds me outdoors with more frequency than I should, should, be enjoying considering the woes of my neighbors to the not-to-far north.  I’m a bastard, but if I could bottle the feeling of a soft, clear breeze I would post it here so that you could feel insane quantities of jealousy on my behalf.

Life has been good.  Short of the recent health scares that have given me some much needed perspective, everything else has been going well.  Everyone is happy.  I don’t know if you are like me and hesitant to put that sentence (or something like it) out in the universe for fear that you are jinxing it somehow, but at the moment I’m rife with confidence that my writing isn’t going in endanger the balance of the universe.

N is well (love her).  Everyone else that touches my life is doing well and considering the hell that the past few years have been for some of them, that is pretty good.  This vacation has been as well timed as any I’ve ever taken, and although I made no exotic trips this time, I enjoyed it greatly.

I’ve had time to read.  I’ve had time to cook.  I’ve had time to listen to the entire collection of music I’ve gotten - I’ve even converted some albums (yes, I’m old enough to have them) over to MP3.   This has been a relaxing week.  I am amazingly unstressed and smiling more than I’ve ever done.

I would tell you that it is because I’m not stressed and no longer in touch with my inner angst, that is why I’m not writing, but indeed, I didn’t write when I was in the middle of my own personal hell.   This is the first time I’ve felt the urge to write and its because I’m back to feeling like myself.  I’m back to being the rock.

This year looks to bring me a lot of good things.  It started badly, but its looking up.

I hope yours is as well.  I’ll get back to writing more, but alas, the weather outside has awakened my inner grilling beast.  Steaks, my place.  Can you feel my smile?

N and I had a turbulent start to our relationship, most of that due to my own actions, but the result was the same.  Maybe its the weird mood that’s found me of late that has killed my writing ability, with current exception, but I’m living a lot in my head and not in the usual way of blocking out everyone else… just distracted.

Thinking….when I was first starting to notice N….when I had that first itch to touch her….

(more…)

For some reason, when my friends, family and occassional aquaintances find themselves stumped for ideas, they always come to the conclusion of giving me booze.  Wine is always the classic choice, and although having a wine cellar was the ‘in’ thing in college, now that I have a place (not a cellar, however) for those many bottles, I find it utterly wasteful.

Yes, however, I could pick out something to go with any meal.  Sadly, because of my penchant for remaining in control of myself in any given situation (with notable, often embarrassing, exceptions) I don’t drink all that often.  So those bottles sit unused until I host some party, which is fine because age makes it better, right?

Still it isn’t only wine.  J gave me a bottle of Louis XIII a long time ago, and we shamelessly drank it all gone in one memorable week.  Today, I’m staring at a bottle of something equally pricey… sent to me by someone I’d define as a professional acquaintance.  I should be hesitant.  I should stick it next to the many bottles of wine gathering age, cost and dust in my un-cellar.  However, because I am who I am, and filled with contradiction, annoying habits and otherwise unpredictable behavior, I am going to drink it.

All of it.

but…

Not by myself.  You kidding?  My liver would be pickled.

Here’s to me.

—– —– —– A few hours later, edit.

Do not drink that shit, it will kick your ass.  I’d tell you what it was, but hell, I’m a sadist.  I want you to suffer.  I’m going to go drink lots of water now and disappear for several hours.

Our version of autumn weather has hit Texas with the usual bluster of cold winds that whip around fallen, yellow-red leaves of the oak and cottonwood trees outside.   It is our kind of cold, a great deal milder than what you might expect to find in northern Maine, or even Illinois at this time of year.   Still, as per usual, it is greeted with the usual rush of people rushing to the store to purchase bundles of firewood, chili meat, and to stock up on things like soup and hot chocolate.

I prefer to drink coffee, of course, but that’s available year ’round - it only tastes better now.  Coffee taste is directly impacted by the cold weather outside, I would tell you in all seriousness.  Something about it makes the flavor bloom inside your mouth now, rather than splash against your tongue with gauche, awkward forwardness.

It’s always been my favorite time of year.  I like the cool weather and it often sends me outside, newly filled with coffee and a power bar, to run.  I just purchased two new sets of running shoes in anticipation of the heart-tuning that will be on-going until this weather bleeds into ice.  I don’t particularly like busting my ass on the cement during my 4 am runs.

Still with all my activities, with my career, which refuses to be culled back like any good job would allow in moderation, with all of my friends who give me no rest from excited news and eager events, I like to be inside and quiet as well.  N, who doesn’t favor the cold, or the germs which always seem to find her this time of year, and memorably found me on one not-so-long-ago trip to Europe, prefers to stay inside, her feet wrapped up in 2 or 3 pairs of my socks.

I had plans today, but I can’t remember what they were.  I did the grocery shopping with her, but beyond that, we didn’t leave the house.  She cooked.  I cleaned.  The entire day was spent with the fireplace going for the first time this season, but with the curtains opened out onto the deck and patio, beyond to the many trees and finally to the lake which churned about like a restless teenager looking for trouble.

Everyone else was gone.  My neighbors, which is such a casual term for people who I’d die for, were out and doing whatever makes them happy.  We moved the fire to the bedroom early this evening, and spent it in the cozy confines of the master suite, which caters to my somewhat finicky tastes in terms of casual comfort.

I am a snob when it comes to my personal space.  Clothing isn’t my vice, but the two rooms where I reside most?  Untouchable.

They are now cast in golden and red hues to match, quite incidentally, with the color scheme mother nature has dictated outside my window.  N is curled up with her book, her slick black hair pulled back into a messy knot, her feet ever wrapped in my ‘warmer’ socks, and her body covered head to toe with clothing.

I sit beside her and type this missive, ear buds firmly in place.  It is my whisper into your ear.  It is what came out of me when I sat down in this environment to write.  I believe that is why blogging is so intimate.  I allow you into my head and give you my vision.

It is also why it is so distant, because when my voice ends, so to does the image….

Good night.