Their Friendship Was Like A

I Contemplate The Idea That Maybe I'm An Alcoholic. I Get This Occassionally, The Need To Define Myself As Something-or-the-other, And At Various Times In My Life Have Wondered If I'm A Goth, A Homosexul, A Jew, A Catholic Or A Manic Depressive, Whether I Am Adopted, Or Have A Hole In My Heart, Or Possess The Ability To Move Objects With The Power Of My Mind, And Have Always, Most Regretfully, Come To The Conclusion That I'm None Of The Above. The Fact Is I'm Actually Not Anything.

I Love That Sound,' He Mumbled Into Her Hair. 'blackbirds At Dawn.' 'i Hate It. Makes Me Think I've Done Something I'll Regret.

Maybe I've Just Read Too Many Novels. In Novels, Alcoholics Are Always Attractive And Fuuny And Charming And Complex, Like Sebastian Flyte Or Abe North In Tender In The Night, And They're Drinking Because Of A Deep, Unquenchable Sadness Of The Soul, Or The Terrible Legacy Of The First World War, Whereas I Just Get Drunk Because I'm Thirsty, And I Like The Taste Of Lager.

This Isn't A Letter, It's A Gift.

I Worry Sometimes That I'm A Bit Moralistic; Always Writing About Men Who Are Learning To Grow Up, Not Be So Self-absorbed, Selfish Or Badly Behaved. I Wonder If That's Dull And Liberal And Wimpy? I Should Probably Write Something That Celebrates Wickedness.