ADRIAN . . .!

It's late, but I want to see what my mood is. After all I  don't know until I start typing on my keyboard. I watched me, some more curling late, at night. Did you know? There were fans in the stands! Must of been a 100,000 cheering for their favorite team! ( Sorry I'm being funny and cruel I suppose!)

Kind of sums up my life, and that ain't funny! Once I was a baseball, thrown about, batted about until my seams burst and my innards chewed up by a pit bull!

Well perhaps a cheap basketball purchased at one of them variety stores, the forerunners to todays mega marts. Back then they were called Dime Stores, if my memory, recalls, correctly. We had a Murphy's  5 and 10. Meaning a nickel and dime store. Yes it did! In the early sixties I would go there, since it was within walking distance of my school and get a dime's worth of peanuts. (Hmm . . . reckon that's why I'm so nutty, and . . . loves nuts, especially peanut butter? )

Whoops! off track again . . .imagine that!!!

Maybe, my life was like a basketball, once new, full of air, shot thousands of time at the basket holding a straight line, reduced to being very out of round in one summer at the playground, from all the little play ground kids sitting on me during breaks. Yep, that sounds about right, going from a basketball, to a football for fall. What in the wonderful world of playground sports, would make a kid think they should even sit on a basketball?

Perhaps today, I can more correctly, identify, with a heavy, round, piece of stone sliding down its little world, getting knocked all about, out of bounds, cracked, with a little handle on my head!

Reminds me of the little tea pot song. (I know . . . playing-with-yer-mind.  ain't I? ) I'm a curling stone, short and fat, take me by the handle and scoot me down the ice, watch me whal-lopping them other stones, all about!

Yes . . .  I most assuredly identify with an old curling stone. My body carries a lifetime of being used, beat up, chipped, playing it's last tournament. My handle's fuked up from all them freaking people a screwing around with my handle/mind!

PRETENDING I'M ROCKY BALBOA, WAY, PAST MY PRIME, BEEN BEAT UP FROM PRACTING, HIT SO MANY TIMES, MY I. Q, KEEPS GOING DOWN HILL, A FIRING ON A FEW REMAING SYNAPSES, DAMN  . . . ADRIAN . . . ADRIAN . . .  I CAN'T SEE, I PISSED ME SHORTS! BUTT . . . I AINNA, GONNA, GO DOWN AGAIN!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

GOOD NIGHT, MY FRIENDS