I’ve been putting hundreds of miles on my new 1990 Corolla. The oppressive heaviness of impending roadside helplessness is beginning to lift. Here comes spring. Now if I could just get back in the studio.
My daughter Chloe becomes a teenager next Saturday on Valentine’s Day. Her boyfriend is a 16 year old hormonal sex freak named Charlie.
Needless to say my studio time on the weekends has been abandoned for my new role as 24 hour a day chaperone.
My cantata is gathering dust. I can hear myself growing older.
I think it’s time for the pill.
The very mention of birth control elicits rage from my ex, “You’ll just be giving her permission to have sex!”
Sexual activity, if it hasn’t already started, will happen before we know about it. I’m a nervous wreck and have no life of my own. I’m appealing to anyone with adolescents. Help!!!!! I breathe a deep sigh of relief every time her period starts.
Other than that signs of life are returning. (Uh oh, was that Freudian?)
There was talk of a band reunion in March but I haven’t heard anything lately. I think it’s about time to get a band together again.
My buddy Vince and I were climbing a mountain in the
When we threw the surprise party for Valerie in November Vince and another friend of mine Roger met for the first time. They had both worked on the same songs.
It’s not that I’m a control freak but I need people who share some of my perspective. What seems obvious and natural to me is completely alien to others.
I know this post seems disjointed but really it’s all about rebirth. That’s what spring is.
Photo of Dylan strangling Chloe courtesy of Valerie.