I've been over things in my head a thousand times in the last ten years with everything that involves her. It's a little hard not to overthink everything that's happened with all the traveling I do for work. There isn't really anyone I can discuss this with like the next UFC pay-per-view with the guys at the bar.
So, while this may seem like a twenty-first century confessional, it's more than that. For me, it's the letting go of my story dealing what happens when your heart, your mind, and your rather lustful desires all run roughshod over your common sense. Before I forget, I guess I should at least introduce myself.
I was born Derrick Daniel Morris to a hell and brimstone country preacher and his very submissive, younger wife in a place that was somewhere in the middle of nowhere, that you'd need a GPS and directions on how to find it just to get there. After thoroughly disappointing the old man, I moved out on my own and never looked back.
Almost as mandated in this kind of tale, I made my way out to the left coast in search of making it big. Hindsight being what it is, I wish I could go back and have a good ass chewing with that younger version of me. I might still have turned out a bit twisted, but I doubt I would be less innocent then I am now. I can laugh about it today though. It is a good part of the reason I have the salt and pepper beard I do at forty. I deal with it by considering it a badge of honor gained by surviving the war of life we face every day.
It was the nineties and a strange time in L.A. If you've ever had to deal in the business of make believe, regardless of the medium, you might be able to understand what I mean. The music scene was in flux when I was there. Big hair was crashing and burning on the strip. Grunge was losing it's counter culture faster then bands were losing members to overdoses. Gangster rap was claiming talent in Hollywood drivebys, it was just a mixed pot of coming and going influences.