Life, as the cliched expression goes, is full of ups and downs. One minute you are on top of a hill admiring your handiwork; the next thing you know you see yourself rolling downhill — much faster than how fast you got to the summit.
I would love to believe that old Marlboro ad that said, “It isn’t the number of times you fall down, it’s the number of times you got back on” or something to that effect. I mean, my balls can take another bashing from another ride on a bull or this wild stallion I call my life but I have to admit that it is impossible not to feel tired at some point. The whole effort of picking yourself up and starting again is becoming a pain. Now I find myself scratching my head and asking myself, “What now, dude?”
I felt like I died on the last bull ride I had. I was dead before I fell off, at least in a figurative sense. If it were in the literal sense, this piece would be totally “ghost-written.”
Fuck that. I’m getting back on.