I Was Born Wearing Pants

Changing seasons snuck up on us like cold air down the backs of our shirts. One day I'm sweating my face off in a t-shirt, next the same face is wrapped in the upturned collar of my army-green jacket while fingertips grasped elbows lightly. Inexplicably, all my friends suddenly got girlfriends over the past two weeks. Must've placed a bulk order, as Stephanie said. Solitude's not a new game for me, of course; my only concern is that I'll be the last one left playing it.

I find myself at much the same place I was this time last year. Waking up to Boys and Girls in America, slightly shivery mornings, a blue sky bare of clouds and full of promises. Except this time last year I would've been enough of a sucker to believe those promises. I was more in love this time last year, and that counted for something, briefly. But these days I wake up anticipating that I'll wake up the same way the next day, and that can't be healthy. One wish, I wish I had two more wishes, that and I wish waking up in the morning didn't feel like staring down the barrel of the rest of my life. (It's true, I've been carrying that line around since I woke up.)

Of course, what I have right now is really not that bad, pretty good gig for a college boy and some legroom to kick back, but as I told Paul, the 49-year-old publisher in Golden West, the bar Jess and I hung out at Friday night, one always wants more. Guy asked me if I ever wanted to get married, have kids, the whole kit, and when I said yes he asked me if I was fucking crazy, and I didn't have the nerve to tell him the last place I wanted to end up was staring down 50 years and still not giving a shit about anyone, not knowing I was a necessary presence in someone's life, and then 15 years after that, becoming Roger, an unanchored old wanderer relating his life story to 21-year-old nomadic types on Transpacific flights.

Or maybe Paul was right, and I am fucking crazy. I don't know.

This weekend was a Zen weekend. Spent Saturday wandering around postering for the Thrushes show, then we loaded up two cars and drove down to Druid Hill Lake to crash the Baltimore Pagan Festival, which, in all honesty, was not that impressive--but the scenery was great! Then the Irish fest down by the harbor, where we looked at great metal ships in the docks and caught a stench of rotting eggs coming from the water, and finally to Hampdenfest where we bought beer from the Brewer's Art stand and contemplated the dusk over falafel. Something like that, anyway.

The new song with Monica is almost done. Pulled all percussion and reverse-reverbed the vocals during the choruses. That gives a pretty good impression of what it sounds like, doesn't it?