Tonight has been a night of telling tales, reliving old times, relating more recent ones, and just plain, old making shit up. Maybe not making shit up, but wondering if we were.
I feel a lot like this life is a really, awfully hard one, for everybody really, and there are stories and moments and memories and just things imagined that break my heart.
Tonight Jason is asleep like a baby, deeper and more sound than I've seen him in a long time, goosedown and a kitty named Elliott singing his lullaby.
I'm sleeping on a bayou tonight, and the air is thick with things untold and things waiting to happen.
Mama, I love you and I'm sorry that your life is so hard. I hope that the things I've done to make it harder haven't been too much to bear. I hope that the good things I've brought to you have been enough to make you happy that I'm here. I hope that you can get past all the things that have made you sad, all your gut-wrenching disappointments, to find joy in guitars, picks, footballs and xylophones.
Tonight I go to bed waiting for Biddy to tell me that everything is going to be okay. I know that it probably will be, but it's nice when a dead person takes the time to tell you.