Back on the Rails

May took off like a ten mile long train down an icy rail.

Fully loaded and front heavy she saw many stations on her journey.

Cinco de Mustache, my birthday, Melissa's birthday, Zipp's bachelor party in the Tobacco Roots, a wet and rainy Dustapalooza in Turah, St. Clair fish fry in Boulder, and very few days of recovery at home between it all and work.

Two more days left in May, and the train finally careened off the tracks.  Not in a bad way.  It was a good derailing.  Haven't got much writing in, but got more than enough living in to cope.  Time to put her back on the rails though, and herald in a wonderful summer.

The tent is almost dry, should have it folded back up nicely and repacked before June.

The camping chairs, coolers, coozies, and other camping crap are clean and put away.

Yes, May was a fun and crazy train ride through the spring of my life.

Silence

My own silence is sometimes the loudest annoyance in my life.

Dismembered

It took over a week but Cinco de Mustache has been planned for, executed, and then rebuilt from.

There is a certain leap of faith one must take in order to sanely invite thirty to forty people to their yard for a day of aggressive tequila drinking.

I will spare the details, mostly on account of them not being remembered.

I have heard that people who lose an arm or a leg with still have phantom sensations shortly thereafter as if the appendage were still attached.  I feel that way with my mustache.  Any man who has ever shaven off a mustache of over 7 months can attest to the oddity of taking a drink of anything and then going to suck it from the hair above the upper lip, only to find the duck bill that is the upper lip, dry as a bone.