Weavings

I was alone a lot this weekend. Little Edge was in and out and since I don't really pin him to a plan, he is sexteen, er, sixteen afterall, I hung close to home to accommodate his intermittent comings and goings and sporadic feedings.

So, Edge, to what end did you apply all this free time other than the touching of oneself?

Well, other than labors of domesticity, not much. I listened to a lot of music and I spent considerable time out on my deck and took a couple of extended soakings in the hot tub, imbibed in a libation or two, or three, grilled a strip rare, stripped bare, got back in the hot tub, soaked some more, libated again and comtemplated my place in the universe, figured it out, and moved on to musings less lofty but equally puzzling, found my favorite jet and let it touch me so that my hands were free to wring, and cursed myself for forgetting a towell.

While pensively soaking, or maybe I was soaking pensively, I can't remember, I was drinking, I let my mind wander, actually I don't let it, it just goes where it wants, and I ended up thinking about connections and how they expand and contract and intertwine. I'm connected to you and you're connected to them and I'm connected to some of your connections directly but all of them through you because who you are is to a great extent determined by all those other connections of yours. And mine too, my connectors and connectees whether you're connected to them directly or not. Of course by this time I was dizzy, whether from the extended soaking in the 101 degree swirling bubbling water, or from that jet warmly washing over me, or maybe from the circuitous route my reeling jumbled overworked yet under utilized and nearly fried brain was taking. Or maybe it was the vodka. I wish I could tell you what it's like inside my mind without scaring you. Fuck, it scares me sometimes, that's why I usually leave a nightlight on in there.

Yeah, connections and silky spinnings woven together for strength. And while it's a webbed jumble, here and there and all over, sometimes, not so often, but sometimes you get this perfect circle and you just know it can't be broken and it just rolls on and on like a tire downhill picking up steam as it goes.

Bout that time the boy pops in, sans the new little cutie in his young but hopeful life, and says what's for dinner and can we go to a movie? Uh, sure, get me a towell will ya and son?

Yeah dad?

Make sure you get in a good circle. It's really important.

Gotcha Dada (he calls me dada sometimes) can we see Forty Year Old Virgin and there's another steak, right?

I'll leave the light on for ya.