Of Tender Years

Rojo quit last night.

That's inaccurate. He quit about sixteen days ago, maybe eighteen. Days, not shifts. Last night was his last night. Boston's having a kid, too. We all stood outside under a awning after work last night while Rojo sucked down a joint and we shivered in the rain. It's been a while since I felt that tight, anywhere. Boston took off before I could buy him a drink, but I think he was in a hurry to get home and embrace the news. Chippendale stayed, complete in vest, tie and gin&tonic, and pretty much outdrank me. I swallowed too fast though, and nothing on my stomach. Still made it home and didn't heave, although I snoozed for a while in the bathroom. I need to cool it. Glad I didn't have to flush anything, though, because the chain broke again yesterday and we have to fiddle with the valve now in order for the tank to fill up.

The headache hit halfway through Spanish this morning, but for all I know that was the classroom and not the whiskey. La Profesora thinks I should seek out a conselor, and she's probably right. I'm not going to.

Two bottles of Queen Bitch Amber are in the fridge. We brewed it, I don't remember if that was in December or early Feburary, though the date is stamped in marker on the side of the bucket we used. It's been bottled for almost two weeks and I should wait just a little longer, but I'm excited to taste it. Monday night, isn't it? We're getting all of our new shows tonight and I have muchos horas de tarea de español para hacer.

Did some writing this morning, and some aided reminiscing. Started a lyric, then revisted my cache of old ideas and thoughts spread across the notebooks I've kept from the last four years. I don't know why I pulled those out of the closet, except that I've just started a fresh book, it's red, and I like to see the record of my progression opened and accessible in black and white in front of me. Who doesn't? That's why I write here, too. I wonder if I'll ever settle well enough to look back over the last few years and laugh at how I thought they were miserable and tumultuous.

I think I get to go home the week after this, fingers crossed. Mis vacaciones numero dos!