Generally, I avoid using exclamation points, but the sentiment in the statement seemed to necessitate the use of that particular punctuation mark.
At the moment, I'm sitting on the back porch of my parents' house, watching my son play with his cars. It's almost ninety degrees, a really hot day. I just got finished with a two mile run, pushing my three-year-old son in a stroller. It was not fun. It was made even not funner by the fact that the stroller had a flat tire. I realized that about half way through the route. I finished the run, but it just about killed me. My clothes were dripping sweat, and I didn't cool down for about a half hour.
It' a stereotypical Sunday afternoon. Sunny. Birds singing. No a hint of wind. Blue sky. Everyone in the entire world seems to be sitting on the back porch, just watching the world bake. There's not even a single kid on the playground.
Myself, I'm taking in a few moments of serenity before I have to get ready for the poetry panel tonight in Republic, Michigan. I'm appearing with a few other poets and writers, and these kinds of events always make me anxious. I tend to feel a little outclassed. I compensate by using self-effacing humor and sarcasm. I'm not sure if that makes up for only having one published book and no major awards (unless you count a class spelling bee in fifth grade).
Any how, it's just a lazy afternoon as a prelude to a very busy evening.
Saint Marty has to practice his humility.
Confessions of Saint Marty
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