For Alex, The Rock

I am thinking…I haven’t started work on my apps tonight …Seriously I often think about how I am missing out spending time with my mom, my dog and my home because of work.

I said…so far, so good, so what.

I want wine, woman, books, dogs, cottage in the hills, piano lessons and a 200 year old Japanese katana.

I wish I could write prose like Nabokov and poetry like Neruda.

I miss my father.

I hear the long whistle of the train.

I wonder at life, the universe and everything else.

I regret George W. Bush.

I am the Master of my fate, the Captain of my soul. So help me, God.

I dance...I do? Nah, not my style. I like watching friends dance, though.

I sing on my bike on the long and winding road.

I cry…no, I don’t.

I am not Elvis Presley, but my hair thinks it is.

I write stuff vaguely resembling poetry.

I confuse, he confuses, they confuse, we confuse, it confuses. Merci Beaucoup.

I need my family.

I should visit Europe.

I (don’t) finish water in bottles. A strange and useful habit. On long nights, on long waits, on long roads that go on and on and on.