the other night I poured myself a hefty glass of red wine and began my second job at night which pays me nothing monetarily but lifts me higher than the snowy peaks of the Andes. Yet after the first few delicious swigs of that matching liquid color of my painted nails I realized that I spent hours writing pages and pages of utter swill. I mean there were a few gems here and there dispersed in my otherwise loopy, alcohol-soaked brain ramblings, but otherwise naw, not too good. It makes me wonder how some of my favorite writers, who were well known raging alcoholics, managed to come up with the brilliance they wrote. Poe, Faulkner, Thomas, and Fitzgerald to name just a few were famous for their literary output and notorious for their alcoholic input. Perhaps I am trying to keep up but the actual writing process is going to have to get done without the glass of wine at my fingertips unless I purposely want to get blind drunk and then write whatever craziness comes into my head.
2007 is around the corner and I know that is going to be my year. It's all going to turn around for me then. I just know it. Soon I will even know how to upload photos on this nutty blog and then images will stream forth as well as words.