It’s Sunday afternoon.
Thirty years and one day ago, Alexis and I met at Players on Indianapolis Boulevard in Highland. My mom had just died a few weeks earlier. I was thinking about heading back to California when I saw this really hot Mexican chick shaking her hips on the dance floor.
There’s blankets and pizza boxes,
green tea and fog.
But at the end of today, I’m just
as lost as at the beginning of
Most of the time I wake up in the middle of the night for no reason. It’s hereditary. I’m doomed to middle-of-the-night staring at the ceiling. For the longest time, I fought it. Now, I just wake up and write to the three or four of you. Thank you for being there.
It’s snowing in northwest Indiana. When it’s snowing this hard, it’s easier to write a blog, make love under the covers, and not feel bad about watching the national Trump show.
Just finished a three-hour radio show. It’s normally two and a half hours, but folks who come on the air after me had a hard time getting here. One thing about living at the southern tip of Lake Michigan – when it snows, it’s beautiful.