Months of Missing a Minute to Write


The last few months have watched a man work more days than he’s ever in his life, six, sometimes seven-day weeks where it all blurred together into one sore, methodic venture. Consequently, a muscle was torn in his elbow so “medial epicondylitis” is now a household word where curses mixed with groans are used to describe each day.

Naturally, it’s the right elbow that’s injured so he’s left not being able to properly “service his vehicle”, if you will. A warm, buttered bagel or a sanded knothole in a fence theoretically could suffice but reality has a habit of standing in the way while his wing is on the mend.

The blues as a musical art form is something like an arduous sweat, a lowdown, dirty wail that brings the gruff and then extracts the toxins from every one of my poor bones.

I love that even in the midst of a tough time, there’s good and beauty in the slightest of places. Like when you’re driving and rocking out and the song ends right when you arrive at your destination, or when you’re flipping channels and you randomly land a few seconds before a game winning goal. My favorite: when the traffic that is horribly backed up is on the other side of the road.


One response to “Months of Missing a Minute to Write

  1. Or when, you wake from your noon slumber after working the ” kiss your ass bon voyage!” night shift only to find, its 3 in the pm and the bright ball in the sky is at its peak which, entices you 3 full hours of unadulterated skin soaking, carcass bronzing sun worshiping! Yeah Mon!!! 🙂 You know, someone once told me that peanut butter worked really well ? Should clear that little problem of yours right up! He was an expert NOBODY could sodomise a warm bagel like he could! 🙂

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