yesod

Right this very minute I'm bored. Profoundly bored. So I'm gonna do something about it: Go to a bar, paint a picture, write a screenplay, re-imagine my life in a place that holds my interest. So why am I still typing?

New car makes me happy.

But here I sit at night, watching South Park and surfing the pretty pictures. I'm quaffing a California Cabernet, contemplating lighting up a cigar, and wondering about the meaning of it all. Life is good. So a toast: to life! to love! tonight...

Salute.

My car died last week. I haven't been able to bring myself to clean it out and trade it in for a new one. Truth be told I dislike driving. Not the act itself but the unnatural distortion of time in getting from point a to point b. Driving in large part speeds up life, adding to stress and making it harder to savor the...
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But seriously folks, one of the ill advertised side effects of being a total drunkard is the mental tolerance one develops to spirits. Here I am, sipping on my whiskey, and despite the copious volume of said libation my mind won't shut off. It twists, it turns, but it refuses to slow and relax like it used to in response to a few drinks. So...
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