Sat down for a heart to heart. After 23 yrs of marriage there are no heart to heart talks amongst spouses. All those sweet talks, starring deep into each others eyes, lashes stroking each others hearts and feelings, are all now a thing of the past. Talks now focus mostly around the kids or about what the other spouse isn’t doing, or just doing wrong, or not doing enough of whatever it is theyre doing wrong. Never is it a genuine outpouring of feelings. And when it is, it doesnt come out constructively or even coherently. It kind of just comes out, wrapped in whatever flavor of cuss happens to be the latest flavor. So to sit, and say “look here” and not sound like a failed dad talking to his daughter, that was a life moment. Theres a blues song by John Lee Hooker… raspiest mother fucking blues cat to ever make it big mainstream. Says one part of the song “so listen here, man”… its just his rasp, his curtness and that bass driving every syllable in. Its how i imagined it sounded when i said “so listen here, love”, the rasp of my gut pouring out as the bass in my head kept the pace. Wasn’t negotiable, wasnt meant to be. Explained I didn’t want to be home. Caged in the same four walls, living the same life on repeat wasnt for me. When your walls don’t move or change, your life doesn’t either. You cant grow knowing a circle of 36 people and only learning from them. Raspy me even went on to explain, my rasp almost broke there, that the 36 people I was referring to were mine and her family and some close friends. With conspired tactfulness I solicited her alliance when i said “well, we both know they are all idiots”. The deafening silence in her look, brought about a gulp in me that only went halfway swallowed. Wasn’t sure I wanted continue and swallow it through, or try regurgitate and take back what i had just said. Too late. She didn’t blink and i wasnt falling for a bluff. On i went… “so listen here, man” i am going to retire… and these walls won’t hold me and neither will anything else (still too scared to say “you”) i will travel, i will learn, i will train, i will grow and you, you listen here, man. Talk was over… and only talk left was between me and my golden honeyed splashes of heaven. I liked my scotch as much as I’ve liked anything in life. But scotch i can have freely, though i can do without the whining from those that claimed that they whined for my good. They whined for their own self preservation. Too scared to dabble, they instead pointed fingers and chastised those who did. They didn’t actually know why they did, but someone, somewhere along the line told them it was best to not drink. I suspect the same someones that told them the farmed routine was the right life to live. Left alone, to the company of myself, i played back in my head, rasp and all “listen here, man….this routine ain’t for me”.