thanks

6 months tomorrow. 6 months. i can't do this alone. i think i'm most grateful that i don't have to. by the way, i'm the weirdo-esque dude in the corner with that inexplicable danny branch facial expression that's both a confused smile and a maudlin 3.9 mile stare. (screw you, keif!) so, yeah, save me a seat.

the 1st annual dress as your favorite tom robbins character day

having trouble getting any traction on this one. so i'll probably just go as that gal with the giant thumbs, seeing as how i've pummeled mine into huge bruised stumps on account of my insane desire to salvage a bunch of useless crap. again. with a pry bar.

but i've got today. and it was a really good day. rain, which gives moonpie a chance to do her white fang thing.

the 2011th* american music awards!

seriously? does anyone else want lauren hill to swagger out there on the stage and oldschool all these pukes while wiping the floor with them? in their own puke? er... hmm...

anyways, can't find my beasties.

in pickaway (piqua) tonight, brought computer, big day tomorrow. all y'all are on duty! may buy yet another woodstove this week. and a harley. long story.

*this establishment reserves the right to refuse service of leftovers

the most important thing i've learned in a.a.:

humility. and how to make really bad bad coffee. and you know what? it's humbling!?!?!?!?!

sorry. anyways, back to piqua this weekend at some point. mild weather till whenever. it's just that the nights make it hard to sleep when i'm very cold, and hard to make synax agree with itself.

that's deep. you guys?

piqua, yet

still there. spent 3 nights and 4 days on demolition and wood salvage. cold but some sun. moonpie loved it, just the 2 of us. found out al was frantic the whole time i was there; something about it being too soon. i tried to explain to him how i feel spoiled here, with heat and plumbing, and that if i want to drink i will no matter where i am. he was not comforted.

i'm beginning to realize that i wasn't nearly as coddled as i thought everyone thought i was. piqua has so many awesome possibilities, though i know beer is out there doing pushups, waiting for me to slip up. just a bit. well, i won't. but i don't want to jinx it!

also, hey.

"... too much fucking perspective."
-david st. hubbins

as the fog clears, 2

or, with a few months sobriety behind me afer 10 years as a practicing drunk (where practice makes perfect): a.) i'm not as weak or inept as i thought i was/used to be; and b.) i'm not as weak or inept as i thought my family thought/still thinks i was/am.

bright, i'm not sure i get it either; yet. and i'm being, as you know, neither ironic nor sarcastic. but i'm trying like the dickens not to be resentful. it's this brutal honesty thing that has me up at night.

as the fog clears, 1

i continue to be amazed each and every day at how stupid my family (still) thinks i am.

is it intentional?

news organizations (cough) as sophisticated as fox should have the decency to know when they're being made fun of as opposed to being apologized to. what's more dangerous: denial, or willful obtuseness?