Automatic

twenty-five. today. not much to say about it, a few bad liquor recipes on my mind but at least one good one, outside of my tasty margarita: juice of one fresh squeezed orange, dash of dry vermouth, measure of Captain Morgan. yes, I say Captain Morgan: it was a birthday present and in making the best of it I think I've managed to make it taste pretty good. Might be the orange juice.

Little Brother is living in New York for five more weeks so we visited him today, he's in Chelsea; tiny digs, but the Mainline is pretty damn cool and he's within sight of that, so he's in good.

Feeling in a weird place. Somebody died in my dream last night but now I don't remember who, might have been Little Brother. Had deja vu today--always nice, a sweet note in the symphony of life--but it wasn't anything remarkable, for what it's worth. Ran into Kansas on the trolley this morning and my free-fare got expensive: I'm not sure Verano thought her trip with me entirely worth it, and I've been reeling all day. For the last two days, maybe. I feel twenty-five, If my instincts are correct. I've never been twenty-five before so it's hard to tell, but I feel like I'm old enough that I don't have any excuses anymore, and I'm dead afraid that by answering to all of my mistakes I'm locked in to life for life. Resolutions: 1) dRINK as much as I want; 2) flirt more, but entirely lead on; 3) write, god dammit. ; 4) you have a family out there, somewhere. Be a positive influence on life. 5) Don't make excuses for yourself. Be who you think you are, say what you want. It's not going to get any simpler now, if you don't grow balls while you have the energy to it's never going to happen, and you don't want to be what you've seen.

Enough said. Sleep, Huevos de Benedict de Verano. A good day, indeed.