Turning forty-two in a few days.

This is not where I would have put myself at twenty-one times two. What a funny thought, as I picture myself receiving several mixed tapes and bottle clinks on my twenty-first in college. Twenty-one is a magic number…

I am imagining forty-two could be called a mid point on the Mama C life time line.

Eighty-four might be a good time to stop blogging?

Will keyboards still exist?

Or will all of our thoughts just go from our mind onto a giant collective buzz-like ether when we think the word;  publish?

I am gearing up for one of the more memorable years in my writing life.

I am committing to having the book proposal for Mama C and the Boys: Round 1
drafted by the end of this month,
and in the hands of an agent by the summer.

I have a vision of myself  with a microphone, heaven forbid, on a regular basis too.

My poetry will become a star, not just a mere point, I predict.

Then there’s that love thing.

In time I might find that is jumping up and down on one of those points too.

42 is Jackie Robinson’s number after all.

If that isn’t loaded with promise of remarkable things to come what is?