Nearly three weeks later I sit down to write something. My editor will not be pleased. But for his sake, knowing that many of you in my defense will berate him, he will remain anonymous. The month of September has been quite uneven. I am unsure even of where to progress as I write. I may resort to the company calendar which has utterly swallowed my existence for the past three weeks. Although I can only contribute my own personal travels to my current financial demise.
Barbados has quickly crept up on the financials, for it was not my trip to the state of New York which I thought might be a bit catastrophic, but regardless, now I just sit here next to the man in armor - literally- exhausted at the fact the internet won't come about. Although now that I am thoroughly examining the subject, I am not sure who's at fault here - as I will lay the blame on anyone but myself - perhaps thee editor.
The weekends of September have blended together, as the weather remains stagnant here in Dallas, aside from a few spotted tornadoes. The weekend of which we render to those who labored is by far one of the more favored weekends of 2010. It's funny how some think of New Yorkers here in the south - some call me a yankee (never really cared which way for the term); some of course always presume New York means Manhattan (not much different than those Long Island-bred); and some great ones just don't give a shit (usually those not born 'n' raised in Texas - if only I could write with an accent).
But now what these Texans don't know is that my New York is made up of content, rolling greenery. Rich lustrous lakes. Blue jays out my bedroom window in the apple tree, baby fawns crossing your path in the crook. Things the Texans could never dream of seeing in this barren concrete jungle.
The six days spent there were among those closest to my heart. Although the hotel my house seemed to be, I spent every night next to my sister in our great grandmother, Sarah Rebecca's, antique cherry oak bed -I can only imagine how much more beautiful it would be if the Pipe & I hadn't spend years jumping around and doing other dirty things on.
Numerous adventures in a plethora of different motorized machines - old American muscle, tractors, Packards, dirt bikes & Jeeps. Sunday cruises in the Mustang with my father - everytime I get behind the wheel he'll remind me of the light gas petal and thigh-tightening brakes. Beers, barbeque & salt potatoes poolside with my stepmother. Gasoline filled beer cans thrown in to the bonfires with old friends. Bars downtown Syracuse with my gorgeous sister, her closest treasure, and an old best friend - reminiscing of high school jackasses & jersey shore style tans.
Unlike the treacherous conditions that the winters of upstate New York will bring you, it was the breeze of leaves, cool summer nights and flawless pre-autumn days that made me miss home so much. The joys of this trip were brought to me upon the vows of my closest uncle. An honest man close to me in age, who will forever stand second in line to my sister and I as father.
But too much deliberation will put me in the place of the devil. An ongoing battle I can't seem to harbor..
Barbados has quickly crept up on the financials, for it was not my trip to the state of New York which I thought might be a bit catastrophic, but regardless, now I just sit here next to the man in armor - literally- exhausted at the fact the internet won't come about. Although now that I am thoroughly examining the subject, I am not sure who's at fault here - as I will lay the blame on anyone but myself - perhaps thee editor.
The weekends of September have blended together, as the weather remains stagnant here in Dallas, aside from a few spotted tornadoes. The weekend of which we render to those who labored is by far one of the more favored weekends of 2010. It's funny how some think of New Yorkers here in the south - some call me a yankee (never really cared which way for the term); some of course always presume New York means Manhattan (not much different than those Long Island-bred); and some great ones just don't give a shit (usually those not born 'n' raised in Texas - if only I could write with an accent).
But now what these Texans don't know is that my New York is made up of content, rolling greenery. Rich lustrous lakes. Blue jays out my bedroom window in the apple tree, baby fawns crossing your path in the crook. Things the Texans could never dream of seeing in this barren concrete jungle.
The six days spent there were among those closest to my heart. Although the hotel my house seemed to be, I spent every night next to my sister in our great grandmother, Sarah Rebecca's, antique cherry oak bed -I can only imagine how much more beautiful it would be if the Pipe & I hadn't spend years jumping around and doing other dirty things on.
Numerous adventures in a plethora of different motorized machines - old American muscle, tractors, Packards, dirt bikes & Jeeps. Sunday cruises in the Mustang with my father - everytime I get behind the wheel he'll remind me of the light gas petal and thigh-tightening brakes. Beers, barbeque & salt potatoes poolside with my stepmother. Gasoline filled beer cans thrown in to the bonfires with old friends. Bars downtown Syracuse with my gorgeous sister, her closest treasure, and an old best friend - reminiscing of high school jackasses & jersey shore style tans.
Unlike the treacherous conditions that the winters of upstate New York will bring you, it was the breeze of leaves, cool summer nights and flawless pre-autumn days that made me miss home so much. The joys of this trip were brought to me upon the vows of my closest uncle. An honest man close to me in age, who will forever stand second in line to my sister and I as father.
But too much deliberation will put me in the place of the devil. An ongoing battle I can't seem to harbor..
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