Photo by Steve Buss circa early 80s

  Now that I’m all grown up and realize that I want to be a writer I’ve taken to keeping a notebook at my bedside to record the thoughts I wake up to. Freud taught this, as part of his dream analysis. I used to do the same when I was in my 20s, and just talked about wanting to be a writer.

  I’ve gone back to some of those old notebooks, reading my waking thoughts, and I came to a grand conclusion: I was stupid then. Drinking Papa Jim (Beam) and smoking Mama Mary (Jane) did little – if anything – to make me smarter. But I sure wasted a lot of time thinking that it did, or would – somehow.

   No regrets, though. In no small way it made me what I am today. I’m older, that’s for sure; and I hope to the Greater Power that I’m a bit wiser (not just bud wiser.) I think the jury’s still out on that one, but the bailiff’s going to summon them now…