As I layed there I got an old sensation of being on stage and under a spotlight. You never saw passed the light because it was black, but even if you could have looked through it, it was hard to get passed the feel of it. The lone heat from a lot of watts. I remembered that I would close my eyes sometimes and think about how I could easily mistake it for the sunshine. Sunshine with beer and cigarettes. Kind of takes the magic out of it. I remember worrying about what someone would see because of that direct light... what would they see that I had missed? What didn't I get covered up with make-up? What was laid bare? What mattered? So I thought about all that stuff last night and how once again I feel like I should look inside myself to see what the spotlight sees what I somehow missed.
On of the best memories I've ever had is the summer I turned 24 and I would find myself putting in my days with my dad at work. He taught me to run a compass and a straight line through a thicket, how to get in to someplace and get back out. He and I would spend a lot of time just taking in what was around us, and each other. We didn't say much but it certainly felt like a mouthful at the end of the day. The best part of it was when we climbed into the truck in the morning and dad would plug in Don Williams. He'd turn it up and sing in perfect harmony "Lord, I hope this Day is Good". I've sung it more than once myself today.
I promise I'm not a fucker.
Experience is the one thing you can't get for nothing.