It turned out to be a good night

Despite everything. The second one in a row. I mean, I've had some pretty good days, give or take, in the past week. But two really good nights in a row? I feel graced. Last night, I saw Jesse Gallagher's (of Apollo Sunshine) Quartet play at the Middle East upstairs. Really fantastic music, and for a moment, I thought "Jeez, Trisha would really like this." Before my mind navigated away from the thought, for the most part harmlessly. I then went up to the Druid to have a pint with Snowball, which is always a good scene. I'm glad I got Snowball in the break, really glad that the square, which seemingly had taken to Trisha better than it had me, has stayed pretty much on my side. So snowball, Mike and I had a pint, and we marveled at Mike's drawings, and his awesome well of talent. I told Mike to hold me to next week as a deadline to finish the novella, which has gone from working title Symposium to working title Post Hoc, The Great Plains, and Fallacy. I think I'm going to settle with Post Hoc until I get some feedback.

The novella? It's going well, when I can focus my energies on it. It's a cutting and pasting process at this point, though I still have one major part to write. It's something I've lied and been silent upon for more than a year, but now everyone who matters knows.



Well, Xala knew well before now, but a different version of the same events. Speaking of which, tonight I hung out with Shannon and Xala, and Shannon's boyfriend Greg, and we played Singstar, which was an awful exercise for someone as tone-deaf as I am, and drank some, and then I drove back to Carver, back to Boring-as-Shit-town.

Things could've been worse.

Now I'm going to take some Vicodin and fly into sleep.


The difference between guilt and shame is that we only feel guilt to an equal measure as delight, we only feel guilt in the amount we feel pleasure at having transgressed. Shame is pleasure-less. If I felt anything, it was only ever guilt, commensurate with great delight.