"The Francis Scott Key key"

All the best stuff, the best books, the best portraits and movies, the best episodes of the best television shows, the best articles in the best magazines, they all aspire to the unequivocal wonder that is the sound of music. And so goes conversation, so goes relationship, so go the people, so goes life. Here's where the train goes off the tracks for me: signals. I am signal blind, signal deaf, signal dumb, and I am most certainly signal SMELL-BLIND. I see them where none exist and I don't when they're basically humping my leg. Yes, the reason I would never be a good baseball, all physical acumen aside, is the fact that when the third base coach would do that thing with his hands I wouldn't know if I was supposed to steal 2nd or tackle the pitcher. Yes, it's that bad. This is me, I'm sure we've met. What I want/wish/can't wait for; the thing. The thing I used to see weekly a few sanctuaries ago. The thing I saw dancing down the street in Westfield, in glory of wrinkled joy. The thing, the one that's gonna be burning coals underneath my feet, a wolf snapping at my heels. My knack for teetering right on the edge of great things has equally remarkable and disgusting consistency. I'll jump now, and I'll tell you why, Gidget. Beneath the precipice, life is waiting. This includes heart-wrenching failures, thousands of disappointments, and enough pies in the face to make a grown clown cry. I keep thinking about it, and I think it's time to pony up. Life is waiting.