I’m Gonna Do That Someday
Until there are no more days left
Labor Day clears Denver out, like it does so many cities. Driving around this weekend was a pleasure, the way it was when I first moved here back in the early seventies, nearly fifty years ago. This past week I was heading to my riding stable on a Thursday afternoon at 2 pm. All my favorite side roads, bypasses and shortcuts were cheek-by-jowl with cars inching along at a mile an hour.
What. The. Fuck, Man.
My Someday is right. Fucking. NOW.
Ann Litts wrote a short piece this morning about how another summer has slipped by us. As I sit here in what remains of my office, barely 3:30 am, the crickets outside my window sawing away their symphony, I am contemplating much the same thing. September has a way of filling me with that aching, sweet sadness that yet another year is sliding into the grey-yellow light of beginning darkness, to become a memory.
This January I turn 67. Wow. Fuck. Holy shit, man.
When are you gonna do that thing you always said you were gonna do? Do you realize how fast Time really does haul ass? You have no idea. That is, not until you hit around my age and suddenly realize that the promise you made to start that business, write that novel…
