Walking Tall

Cool, the act of being it has always been this lost treasure I'm trying to find. I never feel cool till I look back at a moment in time. During it I'm anxious, terrified, introverted, or too extroverted and loud and boisterous trying to hide the fact that I feel like gum stuck to the bottom of someone's shoe. If it was David Bowie's shoe I might feel cool, but I'm stuck to the bartender's, the one who is only there because they have to be and even they are eyeing the clock and the exit. Then when I look back just how cool something was and wonder why my brain couldn't compute it at the time. Maybe I'm too concerned with being cool, but anyone who says the aren't are LIARS.

I was going to write more about my recovery, but not tonight. Tonight I'll walk with my cane and feel like the coolest person in the world. I wrote some, I read some, and I danced with my love to Bob Dylan (after spending 4 hours in the police station) And cool, real cool is just the feeling in fall when the leaves are turning and the crisp refreshing breeze pushes the hair from your eyes and you glare from the setting sun but like it and are hopeful for the next time it happens.



xo
RL