My Parade Was Cancelled Because Everyone Was Out Drinking Frapuccino's.

My oh my, how Joplin has changed.

I come to this place, this place of old; familiarity slighty irrecognizable. Well, there's the family, which almost never changes. There are the friends, who come and go and bitch at me for mot calling them while I was in town even though I gave them fair notice. Then there is Joplin. Now that its all said and done, I would have to say that two weeks were too long. Sure it was nice being back home for a good spell to get myself thoroughly thawed from the great white tunda I hail from, but nevertheless it was painstaking at times. It could have been shorter and sweeter, thats for sure. Highlights of the trip: a few friends, the ones I still keep in contact with on a fairly regular basis. Of course, uncle T., its always a pleasure, (plus you're probably the only one reading this.) My little brother PV2 Ryan H. Russell, who taught me about war. This kid has been in the desert for the last year or more and he is happy to be home. We chilled quite a bit. Mostly I spent my evenings in my front yard being shot with an airsoft gun hiding behind some goddamned trees, but who the hell said you even have to grow up? A one Thomas MacQueeney was part of the group. We had drinks at 609 and in between my gulps of scotch and his sips of merlot the crazy old man sitting next to me lectured us about fundamentals of sports and how is son is the great poet who now works at U.S. Cellular. At least I know where I'm headed soon...

All in all I'm not good at recap. The bombs of reminiscence were dropped on me again and I just find myself more and more scattered and scarred in the end. A familiar kind of terrible, if you will. Near the end, I awake from dreams that tear at my heart somehow, and I wake up with the ghost of what they leave behind, giving me the day to sort and sift them from my heavy head. I get to be controversial sometimes.

Then there were the women. O, but living ghosts that breathe and cut me with their tangible ways. Try one, try two, guess it always comes down to "Its alright, its ok. I guess its better to turn this way." I won't go into to it too much. For my own good it is best to prescribe discrepancy in the name of preservation for the future. After all, we know so little of one another, and it would be a shame to let it be done before the shoes are tied.

Tomorrow I'm going to wake up, shower, dress, drink coffee and reduce myself to the spectator of the open road. The music in the car will bounce about the cab as the thoughts inside my head will bounce about, echoing through the limitless halls of obscurity and uncertainty until I find myself in Minnesota once again, where I put them to sleep until the summer when I return. The busy life; the daily grind. Tomorrow will be music, road, and later perhaps a little coffee and some conversation with that ridiculous northern accent my newfound friends encompass. Some are worse than others... and I don't mean you, Cappy.

Asta, mi amigo's and amiga's.

The Chuck.