One of Those Weekends

The Professor made amazing, magical brownies. Not to be confused with “magic brownies.” You get old and you more appreciate a good rum and buttercream frosting over anything that might get you arrested. And we were talking about the ridiculous doubts and how to get through them. You kow, the doubts where you’re perfectly happy in your life, but suddenly you’re paralyzed in fear and doubt because you never, say, went to Aruba. Or maybe you blew your chance at a happy life by not answering that phone call when you were in college.

Or whatever. I’m sure you know what I mean. I don’t have to get into it.

Oh, okay, we have to have a huge sidetrack here. So, I’m writing and it puts me in a mind of Randy Travis’s “Digging Up Bones” and so I wonder, as a person is wont to do, “Who wrote that?” And so I look around the internet and I see on Wikipedia that it lists “Paul Overstreet,” which seems plausible. I couldn’t pick a Paul Overstreet song out of a line-up but whenever I learn a song is by him I feel like I can hear his aesthetics, “Nat Stuckey,” a guy I am less familiar with but a name I know, and fucking “Al Gore.”

And I can’t decide if that’s just graffiti, that someone has thrown Gore’s name in there because why the hell not? Or if it might be plausible. I don’t know. It cracks me up, though.

Anyway, the past. Yes, it sneaks up on you and knocks you in the back of the head, sometimes. The Professor’s theory is that those voices that tell you you should have done this or that, because of some failing on your part, this will never happen for you, never really go away, you just have to hope that the periods in which they are so loud are less frequent.

But it’s funny, too, that that kind of got me out of my funk was, indeed, my own past, driving down 31W from White House into Goodlettsville and just knowing that I had been there before, being so shook to my very core.

I have this myth of myself that I don’t really belong anywhere, that I’m not from anywhere, because we never lived any place long enough for me to be.

But for a second, seeing a place I hadn’t seen since I was a child, not twenty minutes from where I live, whew, it was weird.  It made me feel like there are parts of the world where I do have a past and those good times can haunt me, too.

2 thoughts on “One of Those Weekends

  1. That’s Albert Luther Gore. He’s written a few songs, several with Paul Overstreet, but none that achieved the success of that one.

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