Bitter Fruit

I drank tonight with friends at the Blue Agave. I'd never been before. We sat upstairs, at a table, near a smoking balcony. I don't remember much of it. But there was beer and wine and martinis and appetizers, and I ate little to justify the tab which someone else paid.

I've just come home to my computer and my cat and I drove fine, I'm improving. The crane on State Street and Carrillo stands tall over the Greyhound Station, and I merge and signal with the best of them. I'm all right. Thanks for asking.

Last week rum sent me into a tailspin. I blame rum. And a flu which was "going around." There are plays to write, poisons to research. Last evening found me at Poisoning in Victorian Times. Name your poison.

I just sneezed all over my chest. That's not pretty.

I am amazed by the curves of life and want. I want. And I hunch over my keyboard wanting, but not having. And another friend, not the greatest or the last, but a friend, gets on a plane and leaves again. And who am I to stay in contact? Who am I to trust my words? But I snatched her email and I'll save it in my book.

And I miss NeverWinter Nights, NeverCrack. I wish I was playing, but you can't always have what you want. And I emailed another old friend from college today, someone to the south and I wonder if they'll reply. I'm here. Are you?