Are We There Yet?

Sunday morning inspiration

You know when you get old in life
things get taken from you.
That’s, that’s part of life.
But,
you only learn that when you start losing stuff.
You find out that life is just a game of inches.
So is football.
Because in either game
life or football
the margin for error is so small.
I mean
one half step too late or to early
you don’t quite make it.
One half second too slow or too fast
and you don’t quite catch it.
The inches we need are everywhere around us.
They are in ever break of the game
every minute, every second.

On this team, we fight for that inch
On this team, we tear ourselves, and everyone around us
to pieces for that inch.
We CLAW with our finger nails for that inch.
Cause we know
when we add up all those inches
that’s going to make the fucking difference
between WINNING and LOSING
between LIVING and DYING.

important shit

haygirlhay:

heywhysoserious:

is there a way to uh, NOT be found on Tumblr via facebook? cause i don’t need the world finding my blog… 

Um yeah, isn’t that the whole point of tumblr? To return to a time when facebook was fun and not riddled with colleagues and parents? Last thing I need is all the stupids discovering my hiding spot.

Get off my lawn blog.

Yup yup yup

First time

Stranded for work overnight in a city I wasn’t supposed to be in. This is interesting.

Stuck on the tarmac

In Des Moines. Can I officially cross this state off my list? Not sure I need to see more.

Ray LaMontagne kind of night

She lifts her skirt up to her knees
Walks through the garden rows with her bare feet, laughing
And I never learned to count my blessings
I choose instead to dwell in my disasters

Walk on down the hill
Through grass grown tall and brown
And still it’s hard somehow to let go of my pain
On past the busted back
of that old and rusted Cadillac
That sinks into this field collecting rain

Will I always feel this way ‒
So empty, so estranged?

And of these cut-throat busted sunsets,
these cold and damp white mornings
I have grown weary
If through my cracked and dusted dime-store lips
I spoke these words out loud would no one hear me?
Lay your blouse across the chair,
Let fall the flowers from your hair
And kiss me with that country mouth so plain.
Outside the rain is tapping on the leaves
To me it sounds like they’re applauding us,
The quiet love we’ve made.

Will I always feel this way
So empty, so estranged?

Well, I looked my demons in the eyes
laid bare my chest, said “Do your best, destroy me.
You see, I’ve been to hell and back so many times,
I must admit you kind of bore me.”
There’s a lot of things that can kill a man
There’s a lot of ways to die
Yes, and some already dead that walk beside me
There’s a lot of things I don’t understand
Why so many people lie
Well, it’s the hurt I hide that fuels the fires inside me

Will I always feel this way
So empty, so estranged?