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Hello there. I already said that I don’t do new year’s resolutions, but I have decided that I’m going to write more, because I’m sick of not writing. And oh yes, I have a blog. So that all works out perfectly, no? I can’t guarantee that I’ll write here with any sense of regularity — my computer is broken (yes, AGAIN) and I’m on a borrowed machine until I can scrape together the money to buy a new one — but here I am, anyway… if anybody even still reads this thing. Now I think I’ll stop this italicized note thing and get down to brass tacks, as the kids say.
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I’ll just come right out with it. I have been a miserable sod lately. The reason why doesn’t matter, at least not for the purposes of this post. Let’s just say that life has been doing an astoundingly good job of kicking my ass lately and leave it at that. I hate myself when I’m miserable, even though I think I’m pretty excellent at it. Everybody has their skills, and I am spectacular at wallowing. There always comes a point, though, when I stop having patience for sorrow and tell myself to fuck off already, which is my way of getting over it. I’m not there yet, but I will be soon enough.
In the meantime, there’s this:
Last night my friends took me out drinking. I really have some great friends, like, the best a person could ever ask for. And while we’re all intelligent, rational, responsible adults who know that drowning one’s sorrows isn’t really going to solve anything and it’s best to face problems head-on, we also know that sometimes it helps if those problems are first soaked in a nearly lethal amount of bourbon.
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