Clinton, South Carolina, Tuesday, July 2, 2019, 11:20 a.m.

For about a month now, I’ve thought that next year, when I vote for the first time, it will also be the first time I walk into a poll unsure of my choice. The more I think about, this is natural. It’s likely that if I made a choice now, he or she would no longer be in the race by the time this state’s primary comes around.

It happens quite often, and the presence of so many Democrats in the race increases the likelihood.

Everyone has a right to vote for the candidate of his or her choice, and I try hard to respect the views of others, but I feel like Patrick Henry when the subject of our current president comes up. I know not what choice others may make, but as for me, it’s not Trump.

For whom would I vote against Trump? Almost anybody. Morgan Freeman. Joe Morgan. Morgan Fairchild. Captain Morgan. Morgan Shepherd. Morgans everywhere! It’s not too late.

As John Oliver says, moving on …

On Saturday morning, I stumbled across a Facebook post that inspired me almost immediately. The post was about the death of a fellow Furman graduate’s father. Time heals all wounds. This one needs stitches.

I wrote a song called “This One Needs Stitches” almost immediately. I sang it early in my weekly Facebook Live show on Sunday night. Here’s the replay. The song is about eight minutes in.

The verses don’t rhyme. I started just singing along to the rambling chord pattern I had decided was a good one for a song a few weeks earlier. I was surprised to learn that the absence of rhymes really didn’t make much difference, so I kept writing verses the same way and was, astonishingly, pleased with how it ended up.

My songs always evolve. I may rewrite the verses with rhymes, but, at the moment, I’m pleased with it. That’s natural, in part because I don’t write crap on purpose and in part because my view is undoubtedly skewed in my favor. Let me know what you think of it.

Here are the words:

Well, they called me to the office, said the managing editor wanted to talk to me about a change in the status of my job

I figured he might cut my schedule back and say I’d have do some high schools and maybe take some shifts on the desk

But he handed me a contract and asked me to sign it saying I would not sue them for the abrupt conditions of my demise

I didn’t want to sign it but it guaranteed a modest severance package that I needed to pay my bills for a little while

I’ll get over it

Those sons of bitches

Time heals all wounds

This one needs stitches

A friend I used to party with in college called me up one night and told me that he had just a year to live

For that year we got together about once a month and talked about what had happened to us both in the ragged course of our lives

He only summoned me when his chemo had ended and he felt up to sitting on the porch all night drinking beer

He taught me how to laugh and how to cry at the same time and it took a lot of beer to come to grips with the end that was drawing near

I’ll get over it

Foul off the pitches

Time heals all wounds

This one needs stitches

Now I struggle each and every day, trying to find a way to make a living in a world growing younger as the sun falls in the sky

While my mind is young my body’s getting older and a gap confronts me every time I write about the kids I try to figure out

What I lose in acuity I make up with experience and observations of the changes in the panorama of my life

The writer always writes and keeps it up because it’s not a profession that offers up the option to retire

I’ll get over it

Correct the glitches

Time heals all wounds

This one needs stitches

I had no idea I would write it this way until I wrote it this way.

Now I’m torn. Do I (a.) work on my novel? (b.) Restring a guitar? (c.) Read a novel? (d.) Work on another song? Or (e.) if (b.), then (d.)?

The odds are something will shortly come up that makes it all irrelevant.

If you become a patron of mine, you’re supporting writing like this as well as my mostly NASCAR blogs at montedutton.com. If you’ve got a few bucks a month to spare, click here.

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My eighth novel is called Don’t Ask, Don’t Tell.

Lightning in a Bottle is now available in an audio version, narrated by Jay Harper.