>I am starting this blog just as its title suggests, with a naughty feeling and a wistfulness (or brooding, depending upon how much you like me). Naughty because I feel like I’m cheating on my first blog, and am enticed by the curling finger of semi-anonymous thoroughfare I have access to here. I’m an avid reader of several blogs here on blogspot, and am inspired by their brilliance and also by the community of folks developing around/because of them. Also, I think I’m ready for a new writing challenge as I’ve become seriously lax in that department lately. After leaving my regular weekly writing class, all that I have left it seems are occasional super sly writing dates with a few trusted friends. While these corner cafe clandestines are amazing and helpful I know there there has got to be more. Of course, as a writer, we always want more. More words, more paper, more folks to be an audience to the combination of the two. Its kind of sexy, right? Secret blogging and clandestine cafes.What I really want to say, is that numbers are more important to me lately than they usually are. Time isn’t sauntering on at the speed to which I’ve grown accustomed. Its sticky-jelling itself to days, leaving me breathless with the effort to push it forward. Leaving me feeling like I’m spending another summer in the town where I grew up. One hundred and twenty degrees in August, and my flip-flops all melted on the bottom. Thing is, I moved on since then and now summers are mild at best. I find myself wearing a sweatshirt in August, and ducking under awnings on street corners to avoid the rain. What I really want to say is that numbers are plaguing me right now because I’m on the edge of this big canyon looking over, and when I feel a slowness like that summer instead of a cool gush of wind, I know it must be real important for me to take a long look. In 23 days my lover is flying here from her home to be with me for a month. I hope its clear now where the wistfulness comes from.>When she arrives I have a list of things to do, day by day. I’m keeping a list so I don’t lose track of myself, because its apt to happen. I keep this list in my back left pocket underneath my hanky. Its getting too long for just one month. I’m making it longer on purpose because I know I won’t want the end of the month to mean her leaving. I know what I want already, and I’m standing in the face of it scared as shit and laughing hysterically because that’s the way this cowboy livesWe’ve never kissed. Never held hands. Never hugged. The most we’ve done is shake hands and maybe bump into each other accidentally.Its sensational. The way in which we’ve learned each other. But its only sensational when I tell it aloud. The way in which I know her is as solid and comforting as the way my ass will fit in my rocking chair on the front porch when I’m 80.