SHOULD I REDNECKOGNIZE?

I was working on my deck this afternoon, working through some issues, when my neighbor two spaces down idles over.

He says, "This is some serious redneck shit."  I look up and realize this is a compliment.

I was hoping to get a few more sections done but work called.  I did manage to turn them the way I want them.

I stop to ponder exactly what this means to me.  I, sir, am a bohemian not a redneck. In my mind I live and create somewhere in France.  I make frequent sojourns to Mexico to get my creative juices renewed but most of the time I live somewhere in the south of France.  I am a big walking commercial for Cymbalta.

This little bit of mental instability has served me well.  All in all, there were some very low points in the last two years.  Tough stuff, hard stuff, stuff that makes you want to flee from where you are to the south of France.

Painfully sad but true.

This little bit of mental instability has served me well. I frequently write entire shopping lists in French. I own a multitude of French cookbooks.  I sell French wine. The small amount of the French language I feel comfortable actually speaking came in quite handy as I avoided Mexican vendors in Cabo.  I just launched into the stuff and they walked away shrugging shoulders as they went.

My deck, sir, is a bohemian work of art.  Or is it?  The doctor took my precious Cymbalta away because I was more than likely avoiding feeling grief  (ya think?), but it hasn't stopped me from living in France. Or have I?

Maybe I should redneckognize who I really am.  Maybe his unsolicited compliment and unknowing comparison to Mama June of Honey Boo Boo is really who I am.  God forbid.  Even without Cymbalta, I flee as fast as my slightly unstable brain waves will take me back to France.  I pound on with French nails into French boards onto French pallets in the south of France.

I plan to not redneckognize!