“Nobody ever told him that blood would glitter under an afternoon sun.”
Saturday I went over to my friend’s house for some late afternoon birthday beers and Small Soldiers, a pinnacle of cinematic achievement that should have landed everyone involved every Academy Award. We sat around on the deck for a bit, soaking up sun while mosquitos were sucking up blood. My friend and her cousin pulled up a little bag and set it in front of me. My gifts, they said, for the achievement of having once been born and surviving life so far from that point.
Inside were a pint of Jameson, a pint of moonshine and a journal to write in. Just the kind of thing to cheer me up. Then they asked me if wanted to join them for a 30 day sobriety challenge starting Monday (today). I eyed the bottles in the bag, lifted my beer to my mouth and said, “Sure.”
I can’t remember the last time I was sober even a week. That sounds terrible and it likely is, but there we go. I figured this would allow me to save some money, maybe shed a little weight, sleep a little better (I’m off to buy some Melatonin as I write this) and focus more on my writing.
That quote near the top is the first line in the book I should be thousands of words into already. Needless to say, I’ve sort of dropped the ball by catching the bottle. I’m hoping some clarity will help me write better for me and for you. 30 days to get my shit together and buckle up my writer’s britches.
I heard a jazz instrumental rendition of My Humps last night. I just want to end on that, so here it is.