Kids with guns

Under watered lillies. Fire dancing between clay logs and a TV newer than my own. Feet up on a new couch in house I have so many old memories. Crawling around on the living room carpet, playing some game that involved going in circle and giggling. Getting force fed homemade cookies, filled with butter roasted pecans and a grandmothers love. Coming in on a sauna Lake Michigan summer day to a mini couch, some cartoons and probably... more cookies.

Theres still a lot of cookies. Tons; after dinner thats pretty much all I was asked was , " do you want a cookie? just one? are you sure?" and after saying "no, no- I think I'm gonna take a time out really quick," I eventually had three plates filled with fudge, sugar cookies and other shit I simply just had to eat. I think grandmothers know that shit; just put it in front of them, and peer pressure them into eating EVERYTHING- and they will. Love it though. But other than the glutonous supply of deliciousness, everything here somewhat uncomfortably reassures change.

After my grandfather passed two years ago, she decided to go down a pretty positve path for an 85 year old. She didn't let the loss of two of her children nor her husband bring her anything but growth. And I give her respect for that. I hate to watch one grandparent pass and then watch the other one wait to leave us too. So she is a soldier in my book. She started going out and being social and riding motorcycles randomly and changed up the house. Redecorated gramps' den, the living room, new furniture. The works. And as I'm sitting in a place with pictures of passed loved ones, and a 40 inch LCD 1080i TV... I feel conflated. A mixture of the old ecompassed by the new. Change personified. Tangible.

I'm starting to embrace the roll 2011 is going to play in my life. And I'm starting to realize that my credibility as a writer... has reached its limit. I am writing the same shit, over and over and over and its all about drugs and being depressed and living in a hole I made for myself. I am by nature, unreliable. My writing needs to grow. Its where I'm stunted. And in order for me to perpetuate any form of growth here... is by getting out there. Getting some real life experience instead of just drugged up, college student rhetoric.

I've never agreed with the war. To be honest, I've learned to desensitize myself to the 'American way' because as an individual, I'm becoming more and more aware of how little I have to do with anything. How my vote doesn't really matter. How our politicians are really just faces in seats to make it look like were a democracy. But what I know I can do... is fight. I've been doing it all my life. In one way or another, I've fought my way to where I am. Through all the bullshit I've been through. And I'm still here. Shattered ego, broken nose and wrist; I'm still taking life on, toe to toe, day to day.

Next week, I'm going to start sparring again. Get back on the mats and get some confidence back. After New Years, I'm going to get clean and go to a recruitment office. Even though I dont believe in the war or our policies, I believe in myself and what I am capable of.

I need a change and I am the only one capable of making that happen. Its time to get on my own two feet and stop putting my weight onto others.