Another passing moon; I could be cliché about it and say that "I'm like a fine wine getting better with age", but what does maturing have to do with lack of originality. I am more like the weathered row boat in a painting by the sea. Not the artwork you'd find in a museum but one above the fireplace in the den of a loving home. I've shared secrets with the tides, soaked in the mystery of the rain and ridden the lightning through countless storm filled nights. Surely just a leaky old boat and a sunset to some but I'm strangely appreciative that not everyone gets the expressionist portrayal of my life. It makes it easy to know my real friends. I'm set in my ways but have reserved the right to change my mind. If you punch me in the face and I don't get up, don't flatter your self! I look for excuses to get some sleep. Life is too short. I play hard. I cry during sappy movies, curse at senseless rules and lie down in traffic for those that matter most. I think even nightmares are romantic