eleven.

that's right,
woodchuck-chuckers,
it's GROUNDHOG DAY.
so,
i guess that means happy anniversary, to me.
that's right, neighbors-
punxsatawney phil may or may not see his shadow,
i'm fairly certain spring will still start on march the twentieth,
regardless....
and i'm just as sure that winter will keep blasting my A*
with frosty temperatures and icy snow mixtures for at least six weeks.
yeah,
i'm a regular expert at predictions.
anyway,
this is the big day,
and that means that i've been living up in the woodsly goodness,
hidden away in the white mountains of northern new hampshire,
for eleven F*ing years.
in a row.
today.
uh-huh.
choosing the wrench is what i DO...
no jokes.
staying up here is the hardest thing.
staying up here is the absolute best thing.
at the same dang time.
sure,
careers and relationships and finances and friendships
have all come and gone,
and gone badly, and been taken Off The List,
each in their turn.
jeez.
that last decade was a real motherF*er, y'heard?
and sure,
the styles get harder;
and the days seem longer;
the nights seem colder, and darker, and deeper;
and the Folk Life & Liberty Fortress deteriorates
just a little bit more every damned day;
sure sure sure,
none of it is easy-
but it's still what i decided on,
so it's still what i'm working on,
and it's still what's all always really happening.
*
duders,
eleven years!
yeeeeeeears.
a flippin' second decade,
starting....... now.
it doesn't get better, that's never been the point-
the object is more,
and too much of it is the exact right amount.
the perfect number is eleven;
never quiet, never soft.....