Periods of Happiness

Falling asleep to Alan Almond behind Mamaw's couch, in front of her piano. As a child, I would go visit her and Papaw, and sleep on an impromptu mattress at night, listening to easy listening music and the tick-tock of her grandfather clock.

Each Christmas at Mamaw's house, I would recieve a several paper towel tubes full of matchbox cars. The real ones, little models of real cars. I looked forward to those days. She knew what I liked.

Driving Dad's snapper tractor to push snow off the driveway, though those times seem tainted, somehow....

I built a deck on the back of my Mom's house, and had a couple friends there helping. At one point I turned around to see why my circular saw wouldn't work and saw Chris standing there with the cord in his hands, kinked like you would kink a hose. He had unplugged it, of course. I laughed my ass off.

I lived at a real pile of sh*t trailer in a dumpy park in Fenton. Neighbors were noisy, space was at a premium, but it was on a lake, and I lived with the girl I loved more than anything. So many of the days in that place were happy ones.

Looking into the most wonderful brown eyes I have ever known, forehead to forehead, head over heals in love at 19,20,21. I'm fortunate enough to experience that again, albeit on a very irregular and rare occasion.

Riding a minibike powered by a little 4 stroke engine that Jim had modified to run on almost anything that you could light with a match, and some things you couldn't. That little bastard didn't have brakes, and I wore out a brand new pair of Converse shoes in about a week.

Anymore, only the time I spend in the woods, completely alone, is anything close to happy. Sometimes I believe my girlfriend does love me, and has noble intentions, and other times I believe she is playing me like a worn out deck of cards. I feel the latter tonight.