The Downside

The downside, if indeed there is one (and it depends upon which side of the thing you're on) to having been drunk pretty much every day since Friday (not Saturday, though: Saturday I was stone cold sober; and never, of course, when driving a car. Not when playing my flute, or operating the sound and lights at City Garage. I can be a professional at times) is that I am no longer funny. Yes, I recognize that I may not be funny other times, but right now? Buzzed? I am rather the opposite of funny. I am tired and cold and not funny. I may be tiresome, as well. Even I am getting sick of my own schtick.

I also need a new pair of bunny slippers.

And a gang. I want a fucking gang to run with. No, not car thieves or drug dealers. Me and Patrick are mostly all we need, but sometimes - on very rare occasions - I would very much like to - you know? - work up some new material. Hanging out with work people is not the same. I want to, on occasion (not too often, I'm not greedy) make those people laugh. And I want to be silly amongst people who are not shocked when I say "fuck."

I'm sick of people all not knowing me. Wait did I go too far with that one? See what I mean when I say "tiresome"? Yes. I know what it means, and no, it's not a euphemism.

"Not A Euphemism" is going to be the title of my first book.

...

Jesus Christ, Patrick is playing Dave Brubeck, and while, thankfully, he is as sick and tired of "Take Five" as I am, it's all feeling a bit too groovy in here for me right now. I gotta go to bed.