Funny Messy Life

   The nineteen-eighties are a cornucopia of fond memories for me. That’s when my childhood was in full bloom - the days between the times that have gotten spotty in my mind and the teen years when I got spotty on my face. Back then, I had a few girlfriends and I wanted to be liked just like any young boy, but I hadn’t yet begun to look into every mirror I passed by, making sure each follicle of hair was in place. It was right before the almighty mullet took the world by storm with it’s front/back two-party system and I still enjoyed getting fun things from Santa on Christmas morning, rather than cool things. It was the golden years of my adolescence - when my cousin and I (the one I did stupidly stupid things with) ruled a thick patch of woods behind our grandma’s house and all we needed to cultivate our “Land” were big sticks we somehow ended up assigning too much importance to. Back then, the words “Covid”, “Corona” and, God help us, “Politics” were planted firmly and safely in an apocalyptic future, doing