Well, I've recovered nicely from my drinking binge. Not that I had much recovering to do, really, but there's always that lingering toxic feeling that comes in the aftermath of draining a lot of booze.

A thread here yesterday got me to thinking about getting older, and the gradual loss of dreams. The young always want to be renaissance men, really: there are infinite possibilities ahead, and the feeling that you can apply yourself to a passion for a few years, and make that dream a reality.

As you get older, I think there comes a time when passions begin to drop away, when desires are sloughed off and you begin to focus in on a handful of dreams. The cynic in me says that's a sign of giving up, the optimist says it's a sign of growth, of giving up idle fancies in favor of really concentrating on what you consider truly important.

I'm not sure either view is entirely correct. Ultimately, I think there's a sadness to realizing you will never achieve certain goals, whether because you never had that lucky break, or because you never had the will to really follow through. Conversely, I think there's a certain pleasantness in knowing you've reached a point where you recognize certain goals for what they are: distractions that keep you from truly realizing your strongest dreams.

This moment of rationization is brought to you by 6 hours of sleep, and the letter P.