'Involve'

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I decided a moment ago that 'involve' is a kick-ass word. As in '...can't wait for you to involve yourself with me. And me with you.' Dammit. Where'd that exhaustion go? Suddenly, I'm awake and sober (OK, so sober might be a slight over-statement). Yes, well... All that 'involvement' (also a great word) is many, many, many miles away and available only via text message (at this point) so don't go getting all excited for me. Still, the idea of eventual 'involvement' has me.... awake, if nothing else.

Well, kids (and Mom. Lord Jesus... Mom, I hope you stopped reading some time before that last paragraph), I think the technical term is 'Booty Call'. I can't say I'm proud, but I'm no liar. It is what it is. So it's a six hour drive away. Sue me. I've road tripped farther to be 'involved'. Last Fourth of July, for one, if memory serves. Which I know it does. Because I seldom forget weekends like that. I take what I can get. Not that what I've gotten (and plan to get) are substandard in any fashion. I judge them far worth the drive.

It's just that closer can get messy. I like distance. My shrinks have always had a good bit to say about that. It's not that I don't wish for closer. I do. Just not enough for God to take notice apparently. Opportunities present themselves and I pursue them. No matter how far away they might be. Call me tenacious (or pathetic). It's a problem that dates back a few years. And, given my plans for a few weekends from now, I don't see that problem stopping any time soon.

'I can't think of any body part I don't want you to be involved with...' There it is again - a form of 'involve'. Yes, it and all its variations are pretty kick-ass. Because right now, I'd like to be 'involved' with something other than sweet tea vodka and writing on a Friday night. Soon enough, I suppose, soon enough. I'll get my road trip, my 'booty call', and my 'involvement'. At a safe distance, of course. Can't go risking messy. No. No, Ma'am.

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