So you were expecting a book?

There is a book... but it ain't here. You can't get there from here, either, because here isn't there, if you follow. Here is not conducive to there, and I am most pleased I finally figured that out.

So what's here? At the moment, not much. But I do like to ruminate... or navel gaze, however you choose to call it. And I just killed most of a bottle of Amaretto (yes, I know, but it was the only liquor I had in the house, and the bottle was more than eight years old, so I'm thinking it might've... deepened with age.) Sometimes alcohol sets me free, and sometimes it just makes me tired. Tonight I'm tired. I still have some hope, though, and as we all know, hope is a good thing.

Before I go to bed so I can be mildly alert for the soul-sucking existence that is my current employment, let me say a few words about friends. Stephen King'll tell you friends come and go like busboys in a restaurant, and someone I can't remember will say it's the friends you can call at three a.m. who are truly your friends. Both these things are so. But let me throw this out, too --- don't count your friends too lightly, especially the ones who reach back to your childhood. They know you in a way no one else ever can or will... and they'll forgive you for knowing them that well too as time passes.

To my friends who read this: thanks.

And you always knew I was a soppy old drunk!