Thursday, January 27, 2005


I am whipped. Beaten-down.

Part of it's that it's January. (Hey, two "it's" in a sentence, and properly--if colloquially--used!) January sucks. It's cold. The Cowboys aren't playing football anymore, so I can't even pretend they're playoff bound.

Part of it's that I'm getting sick, I do believe--there's a heaviness in my chest and an itching in my sinuses that doesn't bode well.

Part of it's that I've finished my book manuscript--at least for now--and there's always a natural letdown after I finish a project.

Part of it's that I don't have my guitar right now--my Paul Reed Smith, for reasons I won't disclose, is not where I can play it.

Part of it's that school has been going long enough for the adrenalin of a new semester to wear off.

Money worries. Tired. Kids.

And did I mention that it's cold? Bone-chilling, aching-knees-and-knuckles cold? Single-digit cold? I'm from Texas, 30 is cold where I'm from.



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