Tuesday, December 22, 2015

Booze is a Depressant

But why, I think to myself walking along in the warm evening, the dog tottering along behind me, am I like this?

I could make a resolution to write fifty-two new stories next year, one a week, I continue, but even as I think it, and the dog noses the corner of a gate surrounding the small, absent sections of sidewalk they use to plant trees, my heart sinks.

And then I remember: I spiked my eggnog with bourbon before we watched It's a Wonderful Life tonight. Now all my thoughts are filled with dreams deferred and defeatist nonsense.

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