Words From The Midwest XVII

Good evening, all dilapidated controversy; all hungry hearts; all placid tongues. Welcome to another edition of Words.

Rain Dogs by Tom Waits is on. Let’s start with that piece of information.

I’m drinking red wine. This too is important.

I’m about to smoke a cigarette, so I’ll keep this short and sweet.

I had a hell of a weekend: a wedding and a pretend wedding/murder mystery that I gave up on trying to figure out about a quarter of the way through, not because I didn’t like it or anything like that, just because I’m not good at that kind of thing and I just wasn’t in the mindset to get into it. But I did write some pretty entertaining pieces in place of my guesses as to what happened and who was the murderer.

I also got to see some of my favorite people who I’d love to name here but won’t because by leaving someone out I’m sure I would offend someone. So I won’t go into it. But know that I did see some of my most favorite people. Know that for certain.

Moving on, it’s that time of year I have mixed feelings about. I love Thanksgiving and Christmas and I think Fall and early Winter have the ability to have a certain romance to them…those days where the trees stand stark against pale grey skies, leaves littering the sidewalk and piled up on tree lawns. I really do love it all. And the end of the year and the beginning of a new one offer an all-too-perfect time for new beginnings and an end to some things you’d rather not remember. I didn’t have the type of year that needs to end, mind you, but I’ve certainly had a past five or so that I’d like to forget…but no, not forget, just grow from.

And I have.

That’s for sure.

And I mean it when I say I think this time of year is romantic, at least once you get past that beginning of school sadness that’s still left over from memories of years past. Hell, I haven’t been in school in a couple years and I still get that pang of foreboding that September brought on as a child growing up, heading back to a place and a general people I just didn’t really care for. But, suffice to say, those times are over, and I’m left with that feeling of romance I spoke of: that walking and intentionally stomping dead leaves littering the ground and bundling up in a coat and scarf, enjoying a nice cup of coffee and glimpsing rosy cheeked women walking by. I love it all.

And as Bill Hicks said, only lizards like when it’s hot and sunny every day. I’m paraphrasing.

So, in keeping this as brief as possible, let me leave you with my hope that November finds you well, etcetera. I know two thousand fifteen will be even better than forteen. I know this for sure.

Good night dreamers.

Stay up late.



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