The Long Road Home
It’s been ten years.
Ten whole fucking years. It’s been full of squalor, full of joy. Lots of sadness, and some achievement.
Ten years, and I would actually sort of like some of it back again. But I can’t call do-over.
The reunion is finally here, and although people tell me that I should be proud of what’s been accomplished. I can’t help but feel kind of weird about it.
Ten years, that’s an epic poem, and I’m amazed how easily it can be reduced to “I’m alright, you?”
Damn, in two days I’m going to be asked to cough some lung up for people that don’t know who I am anymore. The whole concept is still foreign.
Why do we consider high school a pivitol time in our lives? How come I can so easily recall my prom date, but I have problems remembering what I had for dinner last night?
Can these rubes give me that insight?
