handle

So I just got back from Portland about an hour ago. I made the drive in 9 and a half hours, a new record for me. I visited an old friend, got sloppy drunk and played music. It was great. No matter how long I'm gone from it, Oregon always feels like home to me. I haven't lived there since I was nine, but not unlike a sea-turtle, or some other big dumb water loving animal, I feel somewhat of an attatchment to the place I was born. I saw my dad for a few hours, that was nice. He tried to give me his vintage 1965 Ludwig drumset, but I refused. Those are his drums, and the only way I'd feel right taking them is if they were willed to me. I probably wouldn't have written this journal entry if I wasn't drunk right now. Hooray for gin. I am eternally indebted to whoever discovered you could make such a marvelous thing out of juniper berrys.