It’s Alright, It’s Ok

I was tired of hearing “she’s in a better place”. I wanted her back. I missed the way her hair smelled after we got out of the shower. I missed her freezing toes on my bare legs when we got snuggled into bed every night.

Three weeks had passed. I hadn’t touched any of her things. On her favorite oaken book shelf, two of her Leah Andreone’s CDs leaned against a framed picture of us at the beach, taken the weekend we met.

I promised myself I wouldn’t delve into the past. That damn picture and those more damned CDs talked to me.

With them in my right hand, I walked into the kitchen so the setting sun, her favorite time of day, would show through the windows. I laid everything on the table where we’d go over our weekly calendars, argue about money, and eat her gourmet meals. I opened the media player next to the bowl where we kept our car keys. I grabbed the nearest Leah Andreone album. It was the one I couldn’t stand, but she loved, called Alchemy.

I inserted the disc and hit play. The music was moody and I began to cry. I couldn’t stop thinking about that weekend we fell in love. The picture showed the two of us laying on petunia colored beach towels, grinning, with dinosaur egg candy in our open mouths.

I grabbed a couple of beers from the fridge, opened one with my teeth, and starting drinking. The tears wouldn’t stop. I needed a lie. I needed something. I ejected the CD and played the other one. It had the hit song, something called It’s Alright It’s Ok. It made the beer taste better. By the time the second beer went through me, I’d listen to that song severaltimes. The sunset, the picture of her from years ago, and my want created an image of her shimmering in front of me. I just wanted it to be alright and be okay.

****blogger’s note****

This is a doubled prompted fiction piece. For the IndieInk Writing Challenge this week, Supermaren challenged me with “Alchemy, dinosaur egg, petunia” and I challenged Grace O’Malley with “At a Barnes and Noble book store in Daily, Georgia, Heath Dipolo is standing in line behind Tish Bejerano. Have them fall in love in 600 words.” Second for www.trifectawritingchallenge.com 333 words for the word “image”.

Today’s song is the one mentioned in the story. It’s Leah Andreone’s It’s Alright, It’s Ok.

Running With The Devil

If you ever want to quote or attribute anything to my name, use this:

Screw cleanliness. Self awareness is next to Godliness.

Love is a lot of things. One thing it is, that people rarely talk about, is compromising your principles for harmony. I’m coming up on four years with the loves of my life, my wife, the Bobina, and my two of my three daughters,, 16-year-old Tay, and 7-year-old Goose. Before they came along, my middle daughter, now 8-year-old Bug, and I had an odd bi-weekly habit. I’d take her to, what I call the main ring of Hell, the Mall of Georgia. I’d let her “ride the ponies” (carousel) and play on the playground. Then we’d buy a couple of cookies (oatmeal raisin for me, whatever she wanted for her) and call it a good 2 hours. I did it for her. I loved her so much that I sucked up my disgust for crass consumerism and unnecssary crowds. I’d pop a couple of  extra pills and we’d have a good time.

I know my faults. There are many. Mostly, I have a low tolerance for nonsense. As opened-minded as I think I am, I have serious deals with music and other forms of pop culture snobbery. When I first met my wife, my myspace (remember that social media before it became a crack den?) “handle” was “Lance, Music Snob”. I made fun of other people’s music. Thinking back, I wanted to punch me too.

Saturday, I found my version of The Holy Grail. In the mall of georgia courtyard is a small store called The Rock Shop. http://www.facebook.com/rockshopmusic?sk=wall Inside are vintage t-shirts, posters, and DVDs of some of my favorite punk and rock bands like The Ramones, The Misfits, Alice in Chains, Iron Maiden, The Clash, and many more. While I contemplated spending 20 bucks I didn’t really have on getting a 1992 Alice in Chains concert tee, the proprieter, a well tattooed dude about my age, chatted up a weird guy who was thumbing through Van Halen merchandise. My hands were on the t-shirt, I felt my debit card in my ripped blue jeans pocket when the bomb dropped.

Shop owner: ” you know, Van Halen is back on tour and has a new CD coming out. I can pre-order it for you.”

Weird guy: “Yeah, I’m excited but I’m also disappointed. Sammy Hagar’s not involved. I mean I like David Lee Roth but the band was so much tighter with Sammy.”

My fists clenched and my temples throbbed. Diamond Dave is Van Halen, you giant jackass! ….I said it under my breath.

I realized that I really had changed. My wife and kids have mellowed me and given me perspective. Four years ago, I would have yelled at the weird guy, gotten thrown out of a great new place, and wasted an opportunity to look forward to the mall with the women I love. My wife called me at the exact moment the conversation happened inside the rock shop. It was like she knew something was going down. I walked out and started breathing normally again.

Yesterday, for the sake of this blog, I compromised another principle. I suppressed my deep dislike for The Facebook and re-opened my idle account after two years burning up the internets with twitter and this blog. http://www.facebook.com/lance.burson &  http://www.facebook.com/lance.burson?sk=info&edit=1#!/pages/My-Blog-Can-Beat-Up-Your-Blog/339720439382777?sk=wall 

I’m enjoying the new avenues to talk to friends, family, and fellow writers. If I see Nickelback or Van Hagar mentioned positively in a status or post I’ll ignore it or maybe go to the gym and hit a speed bag.

I’ve dealt with my Devil. Now, like Diamond Dave’s Van Halen, in 1978, I’m just running with it.

Dyslexic Heart

Hours ago I switched from soda to beer. Empty bottles and crumbled pieces of paper surround me. I won’t sleep tonight. I’m in love with this novel. I wonder if it loves me.

****blogger’s note****

This is my 33 word answer to http://www.trifectawritingchallenge.com/ The first weekend prompt is as follows: write a love story in 33 words.

Today’ s song is from one of my favorite songwriter’s, the genius, Paul Westerberg. This song says alot about my head as a angst-ridden writer. Here’s Dyslexic Heart:

19th Nervous Breakdown

“Daddy, what’s puberty?”

The perfect ending to a terrible week. Her gorgeous eight-year-old blue eyes caught my fearful surprise and I stopped playing with my phone mid-tweet. Over my right shoulder was a brochure that read “Puberty for Girls, How To Have The Conversation”. You know, what, American Medical Association? How about, not putting that pamphlet in a doctor’s exam room where you wipe noses and check fevers!

You’ve read about our deceased kitten, Jerri, on Monday http://lancemyblogcanbeatupyourblog.wordpress.com/2012/01/24/animal/  That started a domino fall of crap that included work stress, financial strife, the worst anxiety attack I’ve had in over two years, writing angst with both the Robots novel and my beloved Helene story then finally, a sick middle child asking about boobies and periods.

I don’t lie to my children. I also don’t hide things or distract them from pertinent information. I have a blended family of multiple parents, baggage that Delta could make a fortune off of, and so many screwed up issues that would keep self-help authors busy for decades. In my house, we talk, a lot.

“Lyla, honey, do you really want to know?”

Nursing a sour stomach due to a viral infection, I thought she may be too dehydrated and tired. No. She wanted the skinny on female development. She smirked, then smiled and let me have the hard time.

“Daddy, just tell me. You’re supposed to tell me everything.”

I referenced her 16-year-old sister. There was discussion of bras, the body cleaning itself, and becoming a woman. My stomach grew sick. I think my heart stopped beating once or twice. The doctor bolted into the room like an NFL defensive end busting up a play action pass. I felt safe.

After we were done. My daughter and I walked across the lobby and saw the same brochure. I was screwed.

“Okay, daddy, so when I’m sixteen like Tay Tay (her older sister Taylor) that means I’ll be a woman with boobies and periods?”

I just wanted to be drunk or away or not in the moment. I put my hands over my face and audibly sighed.

“Sweetie, you will always be my little girl. Your sister isn’t a woman but her body is preparing her to be one. Promise me you’ll ask you mom about this next time?”

She laughed. An actual guffaw. Not a giggle. Not even a chuckle. It was an obvious, malice aforethoughted laugh. I still love her, but at that moment I wanted to lock her in a room with no windows.

“Thanks, daddy. I like it when you talk to me.”

Parenting is hard. Really, friggin hard. I have 3 daughters.

Excuse me while I get back to my 19th nervous breakdown….

Seether

Last time with Helene Troy: http://lancemyblogcanbeatupyourblog.wordpress.com/2012/01/25/hard-to-beat/

They woke up together. Helene was relieved to be in her own bed this time, on her left side, with her right arm draped over Xander’s chest. His phone played Social Distortion’s Far Behind as an alarm. She pulled her arm away and sat up. Xander turned the alarm off and whispered.

“I’m sorry about this Helene. I have a 10 o’clock art history class.”

Helene suppressed her ill morning temper and stood. Her t-shirt was tucked under her bra. She felt his eyes.

“Clever ring tone, Xander. At least it’s not Wake Me Up Before You Go Go.”

Her sarcasm was lost in the stress of what her day held. Band practice in two hours, a conversation with her landlord about keeping the apartment, a meeting with The Manager about opening for The Golden Apples, and a half-dozen other problems that the bottle of Jack Daniels on the dresser might solve. Xander stood behind Helene and put his large, soft, soothing hands on each of her shoulders.

“Helene, I had a great time with you. I felt like you let me in a little. It was sexy as hell.”

Helene smiled and moved her head backward to feel his hug. He was tall and strong. She turned around and put his arms around her waist. She leaned in and moved her full lips over his nervous mouth. The kiss was awkward. Xander barely opened his mouth. He seemed to recoil in fear. Helene narrowed her green eyes.

“What is it?”

Xander tried to embrace her. Helene took a step back and crossed her arms.

“I’m sorry, Helene. I didn’t want to, you know, make you think…”

His stammer made Helene seethe.

“Be a big boy and use your words, Xander. I stopped drinking, let you draw on my wall, listened to you prattle on for an hour about Jackson Pollock and let you cop a feel or three then sleep in my bed. What the fuck is it? I’m not good enough for you?”

Xander looked hurt. He walked out of the bedroom. As he reached the stained green sofa in the living room he turned and yelled.

“I like the beauty more than the beast! A lot more! You surprised me! I didn’t want you to think I was trying to fuck you! If you don’t want me to come to the show tonight, let me know!”

He slammed the door as he left.

Helene choked back tears and went to the bottle by the bed. She took a drink then texted Ramona.

“I have an hour to kill. You want it?”

Helene walked into the bathroom, placed her phone on the counter then washed her face. As she applied makeup, a text came through. It was from Xander.

“I’m a damn good kisser and I’ll prove it to you.”

Helene typed back.

“You’re on the list.”

She grabbed a duffel bag from under her bed. Next to it was a plastic bin with a blue label that read “concert clothes”. She pulled out a pair of brown leather pants, two tank tops, and a couple of other shirts. Ramona called.

“Honey, I have an hour, maybe an hour and a half. I could take you by the Soho loft where you girls practice.”

Helene let out a deep sigh and fell on the bed.

“What’s the sigh for, Leney? Is everything all right?”

Helene wondered if letting Ramona know her problems would just create another. Her loneliness clouded her judgement.

“You know ‘Mona. Every guy lies or belies. Between eviction from this place and dealing with dudes like Case Hill and the manager tonight, I’m just kind of tapped out on bullshit.”

Ramona made an offer.

“How much do you need to stay in that apartment? I could pay you for the studio work up front or lend you the money.”

Helene needed Ramona’s help but couldn’t bring herself to ask. She leaned down and pulled out a cigar box full of cash she’d saved over the past several weeks.  

“I couldn’t take your money, ‘Mona. Right now I just need your friendship or whatever we’re doing.”

Ramona was silent for several seconds. For a moment Helene thought she’d hung up.

“You have that in spades, honey. I’ll pay you for two months studio work. That should help get you out of hock with your landlord. If it doesn’t, tell me and I’ll make some calls. You could stay here until…..”

Helene grimaced then responded.

“No fucking way, Ramona, I couldn’t live there. You’d hate me after a week.”

Ramona laughed.

“Sigh no more, Leney. Men were deceivers ever, one hand on our hearts and one in a whore….or something like that.”

Between mutual laughter, Helene started packing.

“I’m coming over ‘Mona. You can help me dress for the show.”

****blogger’s note***

This is a new Helene Troy story episode. You can read the rest of the story, so far, here: http://lancemyblogcanbeatupyourblog.wordpress.com/2012/01/25/hard-to-beat/

 For the IndieInk Writing Challenge this week, Crosshavenharpist challenged me with “Your inspiration for the week:
“Sigh no more, ladies, sigh no more.
Men were deceivers ever.
One foot in sea, and one on shore,
To one thing constant never…”
from “Much Ado About Nothing”, II:III by Shakespeare.” and I challenged The Last Astronaut with “Madness takes its toll. Please have exact change.”

If a song was ever created for a character it would be Seether for Helene. She embdies it’s attitude, sarcastic delivery, and message. Here’s Seether by Veruca Salt

Hard To Beat

Last time with Helene Troy: http://lancemyblogcanbeatupyourblog.wordpress.com/2012/01/23/the-way-we-get-by/

Helene’s long hot shower wasn’t sobering but it made her feel clean and sexy. As she exited the shower, she saw her phone had fallen from the sink. She remembered the broken lock to the door bathroom. She called to Xander.

“Being a good boy?”

He laughed.

“This masterpiece is so grand, even your naked body couldn’t distract me.”

Helene liked him. She knelt down, nude and wet, to put her phone back together to check messages. She saw 3 texts and 1 call from Ramona Gallery.

“Can’t stop thinking about you. Want to see you before or after the show.”

She dialed Ramona, who answered on the first ring.

“Hi Leney!”

Helene thought about what she wanted. Then she took a few seconds to think about what she needed. Ramona felt good and she was helping her. Xander was new and would take some training.

“Ramona, if you can’t catch my show tonight, meet me at the afterparty. Then I’m yours for the night. I like your bed, my mona.”

They said goodbye. Helene felt no guilt.

She left her hair wet, ignored makeup, and wore only a pair of dirty jeans, a small white bra, and a Hard Fi band t-shirt. She hoped Xander would still call her beautiful being low maintenance. Helene opened the bathroom door and gasped.

Xander looked at Helene’s shocked reaction and stuttered.

“It’s all etchings from black crayons you had and some sepia water colors. Don’t touch it. It’s you at that Greek show. It was the best I could do in 20 minutes…I added the star tattoo as wishful thinking. I think one would look good there..”

Helene walked over to him, with tears in her eyes and threw her tired arms around Xander’s waist.

“Thank you, Xander. It’s fucking awesome and artistically brilliant. You’re so talented.

Her tears soaked Xander’s shoulder.

“It’s my interpretation of the beast inside your beauty. And your need to feed every day. I think it’s really respresentative of who you are on stage.”

***blogger’s note****

This is a new story episode of Helene Troy. You can read the rest of the story, so far, here: http://lancemyblogcanbeatupyourblog.wordpress.com/the-ballad-of-helene-troy/ This is also my reply to my friends at www.trifectachallenge.com Their one word prompt this week was “Beast”

 

Today’s song is perfect for the moment between Helene and Xander. I dig Hard Fi, British post punk song. It’s something that would be Helene CD collection. Here’s Hard Fi ‘s Hard To Beat…play it loud

Take Me To The Pilot

The greatest fight I ever saw, April 15, 1985 between Thomas Hearns and Marvin Hagler for the Middleweight championship, lasted only 8 minutes. The best songs I’ve ever heard, whether it be punk or pop are well under 4 minutes. Brevity is its own art form. In the almost two years of My Blog Can Beat Up Your Blog, I think my finest moments have been my shortest pieces. I know that’s the case for so many of you who read, comment, and write.

The 100 word style needs to be recognized, but here, of course, I want it to have a soundtrack. Starting today, Tuesday, January 24th, and each subsequent Tuesday, I’ll show you a song. You write 100 words using the tune as inspiration. There’s no word prompt. You don’t even have to acknowledge the artist or song title if you don’t feel the need. Just give me 100 words and not 101.

Every Tuesday at 9pm eastern, I’ll choose an entry I felt did the best interpretation and that person can choose the next song or the next artist or defer to me. Below the song choice is the link button. Here’s Leeroy, our 100 Song Robot:

<div align=”center”><a href=”http://lancemyblogcanbeatupyourblog.wordpress.com” title=”My Blog Can Beat Up Your Blog”><img src=”http://i1091.photobucket.com/albums/i398/geniegirlgraphics/Robot-Badge.png” alt=”My Blog Can Beat Up Your Blog” style=”border:none;” /></a></div>

Here’s my 100 words:

Eighty-one percent of the voters in the sixth district of Georgia sent him to Washington D.C. Only 37 years old, recently divorced, and handsome, he drew immediate attention.

“Representative Hinds, you should see this.”

A staff aide tossed the latest Newsweek Magazine across his desk. There she was, standing in a revealing red dress with a headline across her torso.

“The Chinese ambassador’s 21-year-old daughter and the U.S. Congressman. Is it high treason?”

Hinds looked away and put some personal items inside a box.

“Sir, it’s time for the hearing. You are required to be led to the chamber.”

This week’s inaugural song is Take Me To The Pilot by Elton John. The lyrics are from Bernie Taupin.

Animal

The mommy’s crying in the corner of the couch next to her computer. I guess what her and the daddy were talking about is true. You’re not coming back.

It’s warm inside this box. I’m glad they haven’t taken me downstairs in the cold, damp basement. It was neat of you to try to pull me out and play with me the other night. I heard your cries and I wanted to snuggle.

I liked your warmth. It was cold on the floor until you came to sit on me. Sharing your snacks and picking on your little sister were a blast. There’s still some frayed pieces of fur that I haven’t lost. They remind me of the time you thought I was your ball or your food or the daddy’s sock. That was funny when you took it from him and came to hide it inside of me. He was so mad.

The other kitten, your little sister, doesn’t pay much attention to me. Maybe I can scoot myself up high in this box and get the mommy or the daddy to show me off to her.

So long, my friend. I’m miss your black fur and prickly teeth. You were sweet and fun.

RIP Jerri the kitten, March 2011 to January 23, 2012

Do objects have a memory? Does a rocking chair hold the essence of the snuggles it has witnessed? Does a pottery mug remember the comforting warmth it offered a struggling soul?

The dictionary defines personification as “the attribution of a personal nature or human characteristics to something nonhuman, or the representation of an abstract quality in human form.”

This week, tell a piece of your story from the point of view of an object who bore witness.

Today’s song is kind of weird and I doubt even my own family members will understand the choice. I wanted to go with something that coincided with Jerri the kitten’s short life. Neon Trees’ Animal was one of the biggest pop songs of 2011. It played a couple of times she was in the car going to the vet to be looked over. For me, it’s how I’ll remember her.

The Way We Get By

Last time with Helene Troy: http://lancemyblogcanbeatupyourblog.wordpress.com/2012/01/20/i-will-possess-your-heart/

A slight summer breeze accompanied Helene and Xander on their walk to her apartment. A few blocks away from her place, Helene realized she was looking more at Xander’s smile than the Jack Daniels bottle peering from her backpack. She texted Darcy several times with no answer. They walked inside her building. Helene fumbled for her keys. Xander opened the manually operated elevator. She saw him look around the dingy hallway and grimace as a roach crawled across faded blue carpet. They arrived on the second floor and opened the elevator together.

“Don’t hate on my place too much. It’s rent controlled and no one ever complains about the guitar playing.”

She walked to the door and put in the key. Xander muttered.

“That’s because your neighbors are probably hiding from the cops.”

Helene laughed to herself then turned around to shoot a glare that startled him.

“Helene, I was joking. I’m stupid. I’m so sorry.”

Unoffended by his remark, she didn’t say so. Helene preferred Xander being a little afraid of her. She placed the backpack and keys on the stained green sofa sitting in the middle of the living room. She took the Jack Daniels from the backpack and walked through the apartment. After failing to find signs of her roommate, she walked into her bedroom and put her guitar next to her bed then opened the bottle. The warm bourbon soothed her sore throat. Xander called from the other room.

“Helene, you want me to leave?”

She took another swig and closed the bottle. She placed it on the nightstand and fell into bed. Realizing how drunk she was, she played out a mischievious scenario in her head, to make him stay.

“Come in here with me.”

He appeared in the threshold of the bedroom. Helene got nauseous as she braced herself on her elbows. Her t-shirt crept up her torso revealing her stomach. She noticed Xander’s eyes looking over her lithe body arched on the queen sized mattress.

“Tell me why you paint, Xander.”

He smiled. Taking a couple of steps toward her, his face blushed through a three-day scruff. He straightened his posture and tossed long strands of black hair from his eyes and answered.

“Because painting makes me feel alive. It’s like having my soul defend me to the world.”

Helene thought it was the perfect response. Her smile was unstoppable. She saw the same passion in Xander that rolled through her.

“That’s what music does for me. I play, sing, and write because I have to. It’s how I fight through each day.”

They looked into each other eyes and exchanged broad smiles. Helene wanted to be sober. She glanced at the Jack Daniels and lost her desire to drink. She rolled her glossy green eyes back to Xander.

“My band’s opening for The Golden Apples around 9 tonight. Do you want to see me all plugged in and loud?”

Xander put his hands in his pockets and rocked in sneakers from side to side.

“Of course I do. I’ve seen you before. A couple of times, actually.”

Helene sat up in the bed and extended her crossed legs in front of her. She wondered if Xander was a fan or something else.

“So you knew me before Mickey’s the other night?”

Xander pursed his lips and looked away.

“Helene, I’m not a stalker, I swear. I was at The Greek last year when Slipper Socks Medium opened for Spoon. I’m a huge fan of theirs. You were amazing that night. I checked out your MySpace after that and admired you from afar. Mickey’s was an awesome coincidence.”

Helene liked his awkwardness. She decided to play with him, again.

“Well, I’ve shown you mine. You show me yours.”

He removed his hands from his jean pockets and struggled to respond. Helene stood, got through the dizziness, and pulled off her sweaty t-shirt.

“I’m going to take a shower. I want to remember this night. Next to the fridge is a cabinet with art supplies. My roommate, Darcy, and I used them to make flyers, posters, band logos, and t-shirts. Draw or paint something on the wall across from the bed. Whatever moves you.”

Helene caught his large brown eyes on her chest. Only a small white bra covered her breasts.

“Focus Xander.”

He blushed again, and turned around to leave the bedroom.

“Yeah, I’ll go get that stuff.”

She opened the nightstand to look for underwear and another shirt. Xander spoke from the door.

“Helene, you’re beautiful. Absolutely beautiful.”

She didn’t take compliments well, especially about her looks. She smiled and moved her hands over her body as she answered.

“Flattery will only get you a hard time from me.”

She bit her bottom lip and continued.

“But don’t stop, okay? Now, go in there for a a few minutes. Tickets for this show aren’t on sale yet.”

This is a new story episode of The Ballad of Helene Troy. You can read the rest of the story, so far, here: http://lancemyblogcanbeatupyourblog.wordpress.com/the-ballad-of-helene-troy/

Today’s song started playing in my head as I moved this episode from notebook to computer screen. It’s a simple song about simple pleasures. I think it how Helene and Xander would connect. Here’s Spoon’s The Way We Get By….

Don’t Change

I don’t know about those of you reading this blog post, but now is the greatest time of my life. I’m not rich. I’m not famous. Most of my free time is spent going to cheerleading or judo events for my kids. The dog’s barking to come inside. One of the kittens has a chronic back problem that causes her to whine in pain. I think she just tipped over the beer I opened. Yet, I’m happier now than I’ve been in my 41 years.

As I try to find my artistic voice in the novel I’ve written and need to be editing and organizing for my writer friends to critique for the inevitable rewrite, something penned or penciled by a dead rock star has said everything I want to tell you in this blog post.

“I’m standing here on the ground
The sky above won’t fall down
See no evil in all direction
Resolution of happiness
Things have been dark
For too long

Don’t change for you
Don’t change a thing for me

I found a love I had lost
It was gone for too long
Hear no evil in all directions
Execution of bitterness
Message received loud and clear

Don’t change for you
Don’t change a thing for me

I’m standing here on the ground
The sky above won’t fall down
See no evil in all directions
Resolution of happiness
Things have been dark for too long

Don’t change for you
Don’t change a thing for me”

Thirty years ago, Michael Hutchence and his bandmates in the Australian rock band INXS wrote that song about a relationship gone bad. Sometime in the middle of the night in November 1997, Michael Hutchence would be found dead after hanging himself, some say accidently, in a Sydney Ritz Carlton hotel room. He was only 37 years old. Michael was born on this date, January 22nd in 1960. He would’ve been 52.

I was a huge fan of Hutchence. I argued with anyone who’d listen, that he was one of the 5 greatest frontmen in the history of recorded music. He looked like a rock star, lived like a rock star, and enjoyed being a rock star. When I heard of his death I listened to Don’t Change dozens of times in a row. After a while, I realized, although he was only 22 years old when it was released, the song was also about being content with yourself and the people in your life.

Today, I did something that I normally don’t do. I went to a movie, Haywire, (good, not great. Gina Carano’s debut is a good one but the movie is a turn off your brain experience) on a whim. I was good to myself. I was slightly irresponsible (we’re low on money around my house) and I enjoyed every minute.

As I drove home a short time ago from my daughter’s 16th birthday party, Don’t Change came on the radio. I turned it up and sang as loud as my weak pitched, tired voice would allow. I felt content. I had resolution of happiness. I wouldn’t change a thing in my life.

I’m about to hit publish and return to my mistress, the novel. With Bobina and the girls spending the night out, I have a quiet place, no bedtime, and plenty of beer. I need to understand that anything happens with this book and the rest of my life is like the icing on my oldest daughter’s birthday cake.

Here’s INXS and the late great Michael Hutchence. Play it really friggin loud, and find your love that you had lost. Rest in Peace Michael, you are so very missed. Don’t Change….