Waking Up Ready to Write and Roll

I AWAKENED THIS MORNING, a miracle in it own right, loaded for bear, rip roarin' ready to write. Whether it was the bad loss last night in major college basketball, during which my team exposed its inability to penetrate off the dribble into the match up zone, or the absence of marijuana, (temporarily I might hope), or the dreams I had, to me is irrelevant. I remember seeing my mother, dead now nearly five years, and Amy, sweet Amy, with whom I used to work, and with whom I recall wanting to be left alone, much as I adore my long dead mom. Then too, that new John Grisham novel is off to a fast start; we know he's going to kill someone - he's admitted that much, in a mea culpa remindful of a deathbed confession articulated long before entering the bed - we just don't know precisely why, who, when, how, or to what effect. All I remember is leaving the arena, angry, a few seconds before we threw up one final desperate last second three point attempt, once again in futile vain banality, surrendering to the zone. Then the buzzer buzzed, just as I unlocked the car, left foot throbbing. The Yellowjackets presumably boarded the bus, (not, one hopes, a true ramblin' wreck), headed for the airport, then to Atlanta. I hope there were so many Delta seven forty sevens on the tarmac down there that the team is still sitting on board, bored, hungover, already tired of winning. Maybe the restrooms are even clogged and out of order. (it would serve the cause of justice.) That touchy little muscle on the right side of my left foot finally had had quite enough, and gave out, as I ran towards my car, venting, looking for that telltale "Impeach Trump" bumper sticker, the only one like it in town, spewing anger at an offense which never entered the paint, I, like some long haired high school loser on meth, or the jumpy thirty year old i once was, so very long ago. Then I got home too quickly and slept on it. Nothing changed. To root for the Razorbacks is to suffer. But, well, and then..don't we all, at least in the long run? Here's a hint; later today I fully intend to publish an essay praising president Donald J. Trump. That, dear reader, is production.