Oh fuck, where were we? Oh yeah, now I remember. We were going through the motions of entertaining ourselves with ripe little thoughts about getting somewhere. Anywhere, really. Just not here. But there. Yeah, over there. Been there? Yep. Done that. Whatever.
But it’s still not clear to me. I’m having a foggy notion of thinking about stopping the war. And I’ve got a vague recollection of having hopes for impeachment. But I’m not sure. It all feels like a bad dream. Shit, I even think I got arrested. Oh damn, not that again.
Now, let’s see. I remember frantically searching out computers in the middle of a painter’s workday to speak with you about the current events swirling around us in this capital city. And I remember getting all kinds of emails from readers telling me sweet little things like, “shut the fuck up you loser.” Yeah, I definitely remember that. Kind of.
Oh yeah, and I remember reading other Vermont blogs and thinking, “why can’t my life be that simple?” I mean, I’d love to think the Dems had all the answers. Or that more photos of myself posted on the Web could be interesting to someone – anyone. Or that Bernie Sanders is God. Imagine how good it would feel to give two thumbs up to Patrick Leahy and then go back to bed – or the bottle. And just think how much of a relief it would be to let yourself say this to the Vermont political world: “I think we should just give Peter Welch some time.”
Life would be easy. I would, for example, be really content with the do-nothing legislature. I’d think Peter Freyne was still relevant. I wouldn’t notice Jim Douglas’ doublespeak. I’d think it was sunny and warm today and everyday.
Yep, now it’s all coming back to me. I’m the guy who didn’t drink the Vermont Kool-Aid. I’m the fart at the party. I’m the hair in the Ben & Jerry’s Phish Food. I’m the udder pus in the Cabot Cheese. I’m the man without a political party.
I’m just Snarky Boy.
Ready. Aim. Fire.
