I don’t have to use a walker to pump my gas.
tweet thisFiled under: Deep South, Everyday, faith, humor, life
I have realized, lately, that I am, at best, a third cousin once removed from my own definition of self-awareness. I like to think I'm savvy and a smooth operator, most of the time, but I had a bit of a bitter pill to swallow yesterday, when, on my way back from Scooba (perish the thought!), I had to stop and get gas. This is hardly a new thing for me, but unlike my usual stop-and-gos at the Scooba Junction gas station, I had neglected to look at my gas gauge until I was in Brooksville, about twenty minutes north. I had no choice but to pull...
Mistakes make you feel bad. Like Peter Scolari or Mario van Peebles.
Filed under: faith, food, language, life, theatre, writing
I've made a mistake. I know I've made, like, at least two mistakes, previously, in my whole life and this would make three, and that's like, a holy number, so maybe I've come full circle, now. God, I hope. And though I don't make many mistakes, I know quite well what it feels like; the three I've made already have hurt like the Dickens. You know what the Dickens feels like, don't you? It feels like a headache plus a backache plus a neckache plus a stomachache, and your stomach is connected to your knee bone and your knee bone's connected to your jaw bone, something...
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