My brother and I are talking about GLEE. We're pretending it's not the gayest thing we've ever talked about. And seriously, we've discussed some very gay things. Because we're both gay. In the interest of sibling competitiveness, let it be known I was gay first, and I started watching, and hating, GLEE first.
Sometimes, when I mean to type "fair enough", I accidentally type "far enough", and people think they should quit talking about whatever it is they're talking about. They're right. They should quit talking.
I had so much bourbon on Sunday. I had so much bourbon, it snowed. Yes, my drinking made it snow. I went outside, drunk, and looked into the park. The light was just right. I felt clear and pinched like you do when you're sick. I had a moment. And then I realized how much I talked to my drinking friend and how much of that talk I couldn't even remember. I've spent the better part of three days wondering what I said to another drunk person. It can't have been that important.
I feel like all I talk about is writing and cats. I don't even have a cat. There are at least four cats, though, maybe more, running stray on our block. It's getting to be that time of year where they spend all day on top of my car. There's one new stray who comes to the kitchen door and screams whenever I cook. He seriously wants this chickpea curry.
I guess I'm going to read all the Hemingway books I can find. All right in a row. If I ask you to go fishing, say no. I won't really want to go fishing. Like most things I do, it'll be an affectation. If I start wearing a fishing vest, make sure I follow through by having something edible in every single pocket of that fishing vest. As a joke, make sure to ask me how the fish are biting.