.
A drum beats for me,
it gets louder every day
The cadence tells me that soon
I'll meet my judgment day
Life's an endless showdown,
never knowing when they'll come
I sleep with one eye open
lying with my smoking gun
The game I play
has caused a lot of grief
They were dying for fame,
so I obliged some relief.
--Megadeth (D. Mustaine)
The 30::30 ends tomorrow night.
I'm happy to just be writing.
Been talking to my computer
(speech recognition, not insanity).
It doesn't understand me either.
I work a little next week.
Three days with a new company.
It's good money and may lead to more opportunities.
I'm also working H-SC's graduation.
I just hope the old people aren't too drunk off their asses
like at the football games.
There's nothing more thrilling than waiting
on a loudmouthed grandmother reeking of vodka.
At noon, no less.
Then, Monday, I hopefully go to UVA,
with a smile and a bum leg.
I say hopefully because I just want my leg back.
It sucks balls trying to do anything active
(split wood, mow grass, play basketball)
and every few seconds feel a warm draft,
a pinch, a throb, a reminder that without warning
I could be bleeding like a sonuvabitch.
After that visit,
it's probably a wave of tests,
some recuperation and revision,
another day of work in June,
a big old submission set-sail in the mid-month,
and then lunch with some friends I
haven't seen in a long time.
I promise.
And then?
I guess I finally get my wanderlust on
and roll, roll, roll along like a watermelon,
a plump, juicy, red-meat watermelon,
seeming so green.
Anyway, yeah.
I've got to go get pissed at my monitor, now--
dry-throated with a want to throttle.
Soon.
.
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