The beauty of [inebriated? drunk?] confessions

In this state I’m in, at 12:54 a.m. on the 1st of January 2014, when what I know is what I know, but what I feel, what I truly believe, is the primary condition with which I express myself is the only reason I’m here in any way, whether writing, or drawing, or animating, is the raison d’être, the very core, the dried grape of the lightness of being that brings me here rather into the arms of my wife…

Does it make sense?

Damnation!  I’m hurting…and it’s not the hearing aids I wear while listening to the Pandora bluegrass channel centered on my favorite artist, Claire Lynch, with whom I want to spend three weeks al0ne with the two of us making whatever music we can in the moments between her tour life and my home life…

No, it’s the thought of another man’s [common law] wife with whom I want to spend time but can’t, knowing she has another set of conditions I don’t know about.

It’s more than that.

It’s a bearded fellow who has recently encouraged us guys to take on teenage brides…

It’s a dance floor of possibilities that I can’t shake out of my thoughts on a night of drinking Straight to Ale brew.

It’s meeting Eric and Judy of Moondust Jazz Band, friends of a friend named Jennifer Nye, a/k/a Guin, common law husband of Jerry Gilley, my new brother, that sets a line in the sand of the dunes of life.

Drifting…

I know what I want.

I know what I can’t get — children with Monica Guinn Prewitt, who read a poem I wrote her to her children with Dean, planting a formative years’ thought pattern within Christy, the child I didn’t have with my dear, sweet friend from forever, Monica, who once told me not to be confused, who lives with Dean in Singapore, last I knew, who has enjoyed a successful business career, much like Monica’s father at Eastman before he died in a Porsche 911 with a friend of his a few year ago…

Can you buy love?

My wife bought me hearing aids, which were fitted and software-adjusted for my ear earlier today.

My wife and I danced from 8:30 p.m. until after midnight at the warehouse where brewed hops in steel containers and wooden barrels produced Straight t0 Ale beers, where we ran into old friends Brandon and Caroline Dewberry whose son, like me, achieved his Eagle Scout rank.

How typical is my path through life, from Eagle Scout to now, many a diversion worth a written tale or two?

Je ne sais pas.

I hurt for a late night dance with Abi.

I ache for an unencumbered dance with Jenn, my new friend from forever.

I need to memorise chants with my new friend, Jenn’s [common law] husband, her partner, Jerry.

How much more do I need to delve into the difference, the commonalities, between the rational and the religious, the Christian/Buddhist/Hindu/Islamic/etc. and the Bright approach to the connection between sets of states of energy in the known universe?

At 1:14 a.m., I want to lay my head on a pillow without the world spinning, without the influence of the passage of fermented products from my stomach into my bloodstream making me naturally dizzy on New Year’s Eve.

I don’t always get what I want.

Oh well.

Time to say goodnight to the new sensations of the sound of my fingers clicking plastic keys on a laptop computer keyb0ard and give attention to a living being, my wife, if not our two Cornish Rex cats, wishing it was, instead, a last dance with Jenn or Abi.

Such is life.

We get some approximation of what we think we want.

I want two children to call my own.

How shall I accomplish that?

Wuth my fracking buddy, Neal and his daughter, Melissa?

If not her, then whom?

Shall I ask myself in the later light of day of this first calendral tick in 2014 not to read what I wrote when my inhibitions were questionably lowered?

Questions don’t always need answered.

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