Drinking and Emailing

(From the New "Peckerville" Series)

A month off has pretty much decimated the numbers of people visiting my site.  C'est la vie.  It is silly to write, to make things up.  There is real work to be done.  But. . . it should be done by those who can.  I'm not so very good at the real work.  But if no one reads this. . . it might be better.

Last night, I did something we all know is wrong.  All of us.  Do not email drunk.  And maudlin.  We all know it.  Perhaps we all do it.

So I sent the usual to an old flame, a pyre, if you will.  Music.  Whiskey and Music will fuck you up just about every time.  I didn't send one email, but three, back to back to back.  Words.  Music.  More music.  A couple videos.  I was happy again.  The world felt young and fertile.  Yes, yes. . . we would see.

Morning.  Timidly I looked at my inbox.  Nothing.  With one eye partially open, I peeked into the sent mail.  Oh. . .oh.  Well. . . the damage done.

That evening after being gone for the day, I looked again.  Yes. . . the response.  Apparently, I'd gotten away with it.  We had not written in a couple of years.  Her greeting was warm.

And so, I hope, I will get away writing this blog, too.  It is a mistake, we all know.  I will drink and write and send it out to you. . . with hope. . . etc.

So quickly, I tell to you that my mother is watching the Somebody Casey trial.  Anthony Casey?  That can't be right.  Her day is planned around it.  She watches and keeps me informed.  She is shocked, she says.  They used the "f" word on the first day of the trial.  The prosecution accused the defendant's father of sexually abusing her as a child.

"The defense attorney said, 'How could she go to school and act normal after having a big prick in her mouth,'" my mother reported.

"Did he say it was big?"

"Maybe he said 'penis,'" my mother replied.

"I'd bet so."

I am shocked by my mother's bluntness.  The world keeps changing.  I'd better.