Repetitive Musing...

Seventeen. The number calls out to me.
Not that I had such a great 17... or maybe I did.

When I was 17...

I had a car to drive... it wasn't much, but it had 4 wheels, plenty of space, and it ran. It also had 144 different bumper stickers on it so it was REAL easy to find in the parking lot of ANY mall or concert.

I had a girl. Yeah, she was crazy about me. Crazy in not just the figurative sense, either. Go figure - I think it sets a pattern, hmm? Cause I sure have dated some doozies and floozies...

I was acing school... not a big deal - I could sleep through most classes in high school and still get an 'A'... except for English. And that was definitely a personality conflict. I don't think she liked foreign looking people. Ahh well... high school - so glad I'm done with THAT side of it, anyway.

I had a good core group of friends.

It was the dawn of the digital age and the birth of the video arcade era - yeah, I'll admit to my geekdom here. I was a Sinistar GOD! okay... more like a demigod, but that game was no walk in the park.

And I was in a band. Not a marching band or high school band, oh no. I played the bone in the horn section of an R&B/Beach/Blues group. Hey, we actually got paid to play a number of gigs, too. I guess that's where my crowd ho days first began to feel the need... the urge... the addiction to feed... but I digress.

Oh, I got laid a lot back then, too. Yes. That was fun.

But 17... that number just sticks in my craw... it bugs me... it pokes at me to be written for some bizarre reason, reasons beyond my understanding. What is it about that number?

I mean, it's not like 42, THE universal answer to the ultimate question to life, the universe, and everything.

But it gets at me... and I just don't understand it.

Do you?