grown-up stuff

Evidently I'm not done.

I wonder if a picture would properly capture this scene? Let's try...

The patio lights are on.
Which means white Christmas/Yule lights are mixed in with the ivy draped around the covered patio. I sit on the padded wicker sofa.
Pink Floyd (yes, still) plays through the back window.
Wish You Were Here, and Dark Side of The Moon, to be exact.
Shine on, you crazy diamond.

Bliss, man.

I think that if you're a fan, we'll be forever friends. If not - just never tell me so.
Zeppelin. Donavan. Cat Stephens. Leonard Cohen. Three Dog Night. Sometimes Doors. Sometimes Stones. Sometimes Beatles. Sometimes Grateful Dead.

Getting a sense for my mood?

Babes are sleepin'.

I'm over twenty-one. I'm home.
Dude.

My babes were slightly disturbed, before they gave up.
"Mom. Can't stand that music. Turn it off. So's I can properly watch Cartoon Network."
"Ain't gonna happen, Bud. I'm sorry, but that's the way it is."
They turned funny colors.
Didn't quite know what to do.

Rolls eyes.
Look.
I'm taking care not to weird them out.
But Honestly.
Seems that maybe Happy Hour needs to be celebrated around here once in a while.
It's been predominantly Disney Land for the last seven-plus years.

Granted, Eric and I had Happy Hour oppurtunities for a long, long time pre children.
Which is why we are happily engaged in the Kid Life.

But we're not Dead.
And we're not perpetually six.
Even if mostly we seem like it.

So.
Here I am.
Happily being twenty something.
At thirty something.

In a funky mood.

If you lived next door I might invite you over.
And I'd offer you a cold beer.

And if we had a swimmin' pool that was even a foot wider, I'd invite you to go swimmin'.

[grin]
Maybe even skinny dippin.
Ha!