Once upon a time I kept dreaming that my teeth were falling out, or naked in a crowd, or that nobody understood me... Then I realized that I'd moved to Tokyo, and it was all true (save my teeth are still intact). Powerlessness is a dirty thing, though not inherently bad.

Days, months, a year after the dissolution of my marriage to a controlling psycho, all I can say is glad I did, glad I'm done. Now I'm just powerless enough to be dangerous, after all these years...

Why is it that things left undone become harder? As they snowball out of control I run from them, afraid to look back. Hah! Take that homework! Take that bills! I'm ignoring you all!

Sophomoric at best, I know, and yet I soldier on with such outmoded and damaging behaviors. A year older, a year wiser, you think I'd have learned. Nope. How does one overcome the fecundity of sloth?

Think I'll buy a another Tony Robbins book...

Hope you're having better luck than I.

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 little things. But I did love that car. Sure at times we fought, but in the end it was a part of me for the past six years. It's full name was uber-krasnaya maschina Yoshitsune #1. It survived my miserable marriage. It carried me dutifully across the country. It put in many years of good service. I'm depressed by the thought of replacing it.

Still, it nice to have AC again. Texas is fucking hot!

C'est la vie, I guess.

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 I have a few more. And more. Eventually I start to stumble around the room. I can hear my own speech slur. Physically it's working, but mentally... The conscious mind knows this game too well. Is bored of it. And it's not playing along.

Se la vie. Shou ga nai ne... Maybe one more drink will do the trick.

Peace be with you all, and solace as well. Salute!