Nealmeister

Moving, Lonergan, and Seventy-Five Days

An agent through which vital powers are exercised.

Fall is finally becoming fall in Boston, in November.  Crisp and cool, just the way November should be.  I always thought that this type of fall weather lends itself to the nostalgia that replays inside my mind and supports the frustrated writer that lingers inside of me.  That's what I thought about when I was walking up Walker Street after I got off the bus this evening.  I was thinking about how much I really love my street, and how cool but strikingly red the fireball glowed from the utility pole at the top of my street, and how much I really loved what I do--even though I bitch and complain about it at times.  It's that new slug of a slog that I have to fight out and figure out.  I could quit.  But I love the playing field.

Beneath that fireball, though, I bumped upon Todd and Meg's U-Haul.  Todd and Dan were in it, amid all of the Todd and Meg's life that was getting squeezed into a 17-foot U-Haul.  Now, I always get really funny with change, especially moving.  I play things off like I'll see someone tomorrow.  I try to keep things "normal."  I laugh a bit and [/MESSAGE CLIPPED/]

My name is Neal, I love college football, and I love cantoring

especially today.  Notre Dame's number nine in the BCS.  And a crazy couple, but not Drew and Erin, were swaying enough at the young adult mass tonight that I started laughing in the middle of canting.  Then, of course, there's Best of Charlestown, and my amateur musings being amused by the brain trust and company.  Yeah, the amateur party, and my preference for... ok, we'll stop there.

So much for being a composed amateur.

Talking about amateur, this is a nice segway into "number two."  Things are not as heavy here.  For this person, when we tried out for undressed, I secretly liked kissing you.  Actually, I think about it every once and a while.  After the burrito and the game and ring around the rosie, the second time was better. 

We should do it again.