Tongue Laces and babbling

If only I could find a company that would make shoe laces out of my tongue.

I have no problem being tongue tied. Talking to incredibly attractive or intelligent people, explaining to my wife why I need one more drink at 3AM, trying to say Julio Jaurez Gonzalez on the air. I can tie those things up very well. But I can’t keep my shoes tied to save my life.

I feel like a two year old. I tie my shoes They come untied. My shoes laugh at me.

I bought new laces. I didn’t know they came from the same cartel of shoe-lace makers who make laces that stay tied just long enough to give you a false sense of secuity that you’re not about to lose your shoes in front of a Main Street full of well-tied professionals.

Friday. It’s Friday. I can’t concentrate. I’m going to kick off my shoes (they’re already untied), lie under my desk and listen to some old Eddie from Ohio.

It’s chilly out. Three out-of-towners are in-towners tonight. Holly from Washinton, Hoyt from Chicago, Rozic from Atlanta. We’re planning beer, pizza, and Scrappy Hamilton. They last time Hoyt was here, we drank Jager until the Corner Pocket put the felt covers on the tables. I wandered off and pondered life under the Sum Gum Tree (I learned later that it was a Sweet Gum Tree. Go figure).

I couldn’t sleep last night. No storms blew in. I kept my wife awake too long. I let her fall alseep around 1AM. I couldn’t sleep. I couldn’t stop wondering where home was.

I own my house here. I have friends here. My parents live in Springfield, Missouri. Other friends live in KC, St. Louis, Denver. I’m a dirty white collar nomad and nowhere is home anymore. I don’t think that’s a real problem, but it’s really hard to figure out what I’m longing for when I get homesick.

I couldn’t figure it out, so I got up at 1:45 and paid my bills and balanced my checkbook. At 3AM I crawled back in bed and started wondering if I should start some sort of self-improvement program (SIP). SIP’s suck and they’re always doomed to failure. By 3:45 I was tired of thinking and stared at the ceiling. I woke up a few hours later.

Strange…I’m not tired today. But I can’t keep my shoes tied and I find that troubling.

But not so much that I’m not completely happy with my life.

Brad Willis

Brad Willis is a writer based in Greenville, South Carolina. Willis spent a decade as an award-winning broadcast journalist. He has worked as a freelance writer, columnist, and professional blogger since 2005. He has also served as a commentator and guest on a wide variety of television, radio, and internet shows.

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