The second weekend of February. Clothed in red and white, it is a pretender. It claims to be the herald of romance, but it is not. It is, instead, the harbinger of emotional torture.
An unpleasant day in the office. I know I am just a meat sack, but today I really felt it.
An adventure into a world on the edge of society, to a place where the usual rules don’t apply. A place of free conversation, where people can be true to themselves.
Sheltering at home from the storm, I think back to the night before.
The weekend begins with an unpleasant task, an overdue part of the regular chores.
Not a lot happened, today. But I’m going to tell you all about it, all the same.
On reaching a milestone, today, I share the briefest of notes. How I got here, and what it means. Half a year of sobriety.
Contrasts, observed in comparison, between now and then. A month has passed, and I have an opportunity to view the same place in a different light. Quite literally; thinking about it.
Starting the weekend with a little upkeep, then a trip into town. Not a lot going on, and now I need to decide what to do with my night.
In a small room, above a bar, a man tells his story. The audience, as he wishes, laughs.