I was about 6 when I got off the teeter-totter and walked home. It was time. I was done playing. As I sat touching the ground with my knees scrunched-up next to my ears, I just eased my left knee over the handle, got off and walked off home. I was done playing. It was time. Unfortunately Barb was still on the other end and didn't know I was done.
At 44 I’m ready to be done again, but if I get off now it's not Barb, it’s the house payment, the ability to gas up the car, the knowledge that I’ll have the life I want when I retire. I don’t live in extravagance -- got a few pair of jeans in the closet, a couple bicycles in the garage, I tile my own floors and mow my urban plot. My car is rusting, but it will run forever.
And I like what I do, I really do. I've done what I do for so long I don’t realize the art surrounding it flows from me. I got off once before, and got back on.
So I'm on...for now.
- The Old Bag