There's an ice storm rolling in that ought to make traveling a bunch of fun and I've got a lot of work piling up.
It's been a while since I've posted and I was thinking about what to write. I had planned on writing about how much fun I had last week hanging out with Monteleone, Coop, Drew Williams, Keene, and Gonzalez and how the taste of good moonshine differs quite a lot from bad shine I've tasted in the past.
I had considered writing about my recent Christmas shopping efforts, and how the clothes that fit my two year old son make him look like an athlete, a construction worker, or a retard.
But then I got an email from one of my best friends:
If you ever go into the ER complaining of chest pains, they will keep you there for 30 hours, jack you up with a shitload of needles and large round sticky things with cords attached to them. Just wanted you to know this in case you ever run into this situation. I am fine. All is well.
He lives in another state and I hadn't talked to him in a few weeks. We're both busy as all hell and we play catch up when we can, shooting each other jokes, dirty pictures, or emails about the Family Guy.
It's been in the back of my mind a lot recently... a thought that's itchy and persistent. Worrisome.
I've got a file dedicated to a story that's been developing over the past several years. It began with something that my wife's grandfather said many years ago. He told her the scariest day in his life was when he realized there were more years behind him than ahead of him.
Writing. Designing web sites. Playing with your kids. DJ'ing. Decorating. Hog farming. Whittling. Whatever brings music to your heart, don't wait. Do it now. Because no matter how old we may be, our scariest day may have arrived without us even knowing it.
Don't die with your music still in you.