08 May 2009

Something 4 The Weekend # 117

Once upon a time, in a suburb far, far away, I used to be a teenaged romantic.
I believed in love. And while my idea of love contained many wonderful and lovely things, it was the sight of my mom popping a zit or two on my dad's back one evening as they sat next to one another on the edge of their bed that came to represent love to me.
That was about 30 years ago, and while I don't remember what they said that evening, I distinctly remember my dad cracking jokes, cuz he's a joker, and my mom laughing, cuz she was a laugher.
But mostly I remember the zit-popping.
Alot of years have passed since that evening, and I've accumulated plenty of wisdom and experience, and while I still believe love is possible, it seems less probable. Or maybe it would be better to say love doesn't mean as much to me as it used to. It's not a priority anymore.
It's Mother's Day this Sunday, and I'm planning on visiting my mom's resting place in Milwaukee this weekend, where I'll probably sit quietly and wonder how and when I arrived at this place, my philosophy of love, and maybe even life.
Something went wrong along the way, and I'm often just...weary...these days.
Hotcha! Hank

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