end of an era
I am out drinking with Eli and Amandalee and Marc and Lauren when I get the phone call. The movie screen in my brain starts playing this scene:
We have a really nice conversation. When I finally hang up my phone and go back inside, everything looks a little fuzzy around the edges. Nothing seems quite real. My friends and I all agree that this is far preferable news to the bad mojo I was expecting, given the serious “I need to talk to you right away. It’s important.” voicemail I’d gotten. An hour or so later, I get in my car, and the radio is playing this song:
Congratulations, DtD. I hope you two will be very happy. Although, for the record, there is something that still needs to be said. After all those years you gave me shit for being a Midwesterner, I just find it amusing that you are thinking of settling down in my home state. (It seemed noteworthy.)
P.S. Thank you, Ramon, for reminding me that you and I do not live in one dimension. Sometimes I forget. (You’re right. You’re right. I know you’re right.)
Ouch.
(thanks.)
The take-home moral of the scene playing in the movie theater of your mind is this:
“Charlie Chaplin had babies when he was 73.”
“Yeah, but he was too old to pick ‘em up.”
Anytime, sis.
remember the days when we used to dream
in green and blue and time and space
across the universe and back
in time to hear running ambling on
nothing was impossible then
nor should it be now
back when we were to ignorant to know
all the things we truly did
remember those days when we would dream
about a future uncertain that’s become today
in all that’s changed one thing remains
you can do the impossible if you believe