I shave my face and listen to Philip Larkin on YouTube when I feel too high to exist.
My writing seems on hold for the week as my girlfriend and I purchase a home. My drinking is not on hold.
Life is the liquid in a glass half full. And your friends are bobbing in it, alongside you, until they're not.
My favorite writers report you never get over the feeling you're an amateur writer. No small comfort, but somehow a small win.
Something I don't do during the week anymore is drink hard alcohol. Last night I drank a Negroni in celebration.
Two of my favorite movie theaters serve beer to those twenty-one and older with a valid ID. This is a new, thrilling experience for me.
Firstborns are treated with contempt by the authors of Genesis, and rightly. They're idiots. As a firstborn, I never loved the book.
As my property stands now, tree branches have overgrown it, the garden box is six times its height in twisted vine, the lawn can hide my dog, and a rat has bored a maze through my dried compost bins.
