Ready, set, go
Set a timer for ten minutes. Open a new post. Start the timer, and start writing. When the timer goes off, publish.
His skin is paper white. It flakes with the graze of the dog’s teeth. He leans his head on his crinkly hand on the couch and nods to sleep…off and on…head bob, snort, head bob, readjust, head bob, and then off to bed. He’s turning 59 and he is having a hard time with it. He’s not sure where his life went, but he’s pretty damn sure it passed him by. He’s supposed to be retiring, but instead, he is busting his ass every day doing menial …meaningful… work. He’s terrified of 60. His dad died somewhere after that, and he’s not ready to die just yet…
What happened to the vacations on the Chesapeake, the walks on the beach, the hunting in Colorado…where did it all go? And where did his kids go? He thinks about them everyday. They may not know that, but he does. He misses them more than they may ever know.
He thinks about dying. He’s just not ready for that, but he feels that it is near.
He hears the scraping and clawing on the walls.
Death does not know the cowboy in him. For every life Death has stolen, this one will cheat him…he will game him past the time when he should be gone, and the paper skin won’t mean naught.
It’s the hard pounding heart deep within that keeps him going and the love of a great family. It’s those little—big—things that give him life
and his birthdays coming on and on….