I drive with my windows down even when it's too cold. I have tunnel vision to the extent of it being a hindrance. I pick my nose and don't even try to be sly. I'd rather win the battle than the war. I'm write. I right. There's nothing sillier than a man with his party socks on, but party socks seem to give me a little panache. For someone who lacks heavily in the spirituality department, I sure seem to be fond of soul coughing...walking around in circles that is. Somewhere along the way, life has turned into a very tall, big man. Me? I'm the midget he feels too bad to actually fight but keeps at arms length while I frantically swing and punch myself out without once connecting. Often times, I over-pursue. Often times, I under-pursue. I'm confidently downtrodden. This treadmill of opposites puts that same midget me on a teeter totter with the same giant life. My self-portrait is dramatic and morbid.
