Playing for Time

There was no doubt a time when you thought that just by becoming a grown-up you’d know shit, right?  Yeah, me too, and when you’re pocket-size there’s a lot to sort.  Turns out Santa Claus, the Easter Bunny and adulthood are all fantasies spun to deer-in-the-headlights kiddos, thereby infusing every experience of childhood with a healthy layer of skepticism.  And hello, Home Skillet, the more life swoops in and slaps that grin off your face, the deeper the trust issues get.  Trust me.

Santa and the big magic bunny didn’t hurt much when I found out the truth about them, especially the rabbit, I mean really.  Adulthood, on the other hand, smacks the crap out of us and the only way we make it through for real is knowing somebody has our back. Sitting here this morning  trussed up like a Christmas goose I’m asking myself the hard questions, such as … what’s my trustworthiness quotient?  How closely do my actions match my words?  When people get to know me are they sick with disappointment over the contradictions that begin to show through?  All of that matters for every reason in the world.

I adore living, but it’s fairly cold and heartless out there for most of the human race, as you may have noticed, so it feels amazing every time we can change that even a little bit for someone, am I right?  Writing what I know and measuring it against what I do, because it would suck to be weighed in the balance and found wanting.

Oh, HEY, how ‘BOUT those Broncos?!