Like “Leave it to Beaver”, but with a head full of snakes

He was a nice boy, used to cut the grass.  Solid middle class heartland values upbringing.  But he developed some ways about him, got tangled up in all the mood-altering stuff and eventually started participating in what they euphemistically called the subterranean economy.  Did a short number, very short, for possession of a controlled substance.  That wasn’t enough to get his attention though; he didn’t stop his downhill slide until a couple of years later.  Turned things around eventually, got some training and a good job.  Had one family; broke that up and remarried into another.  Tries something different every year to keep the Black Dog from the door.  Winston Churchill used to lay bricks; other people head for the bell tower with a satchel of extra ammo and a heart full of bad intentions.  A couple of years ago, he took a class in improv comedy, and has performed a couple of times with some of his original classmates.  Is a pretty damn good living room guitarist; plays mostly for therapy.  Started this blog and was real fired up about it for a few weeks, then let it lay fallow for a few.  Thinks about some shit way too much and other shit way too little.  And mostly at the wrong time, or in the wrong order.

Still writing something every day, just not here.