An excellent Thanksgiving at MSM's. The food excellent, the company eclectic (and excellent), the drive to Vallejo a bit slow, what with the holiday traffic, the ride back slick as a whistle. The rain they forecast might show up Thursday evening arrived later in the night and it's coming down pretty good right now, but pretty good is no bother when you're tucked inside your apartment cuddled up to your computer with a wall of “stuff”, albeit camera “stuff” clogging your living room. Did I mention I'd started cleaning this place in preparation for, well, something coming this Spring? How many times? That many times? Well, yes, but after this weekend I think I will have shown actual progress and I can treat myself, to, well sushi. Screw it. I'll skip the raw fish and head straight for the sake.

Why all this stupid talk about alcohol? People who drink think you're an idiot and people who don't drink think you're an idiot and people who once drank, but don't anymore for purposes of sanity, think you're a double idiot.

I don't know. It just comes out. Obviously something I'm thinking about. I'm not drinking that much, I exaggerate, but I'm obviously drinking more than the inner voice thinks advisable, not because it's getting in the way, but for the potential it may have for getting in the way one day, since it seems to straighten out the screwed up sinuses and the aching head and roof of the mouth and could be - under the right circumstances, in a world not inconceivable - well, seductive. Might it not, well, “get me” in another couple of years should I, say, let down my guard? We'll see. My three readers and I will watch this unfold.

I'd talk about other things, the gun fights that break out on the street below my apartment, the psychotic gang bangers who deal tea out of their garage down on the corner, but if I wrote about them or posted the pictures I'd get myself into trouble. If I'm going to invent things, I think I'll keep it to my internal life and alcohol.