Eurgh

I saluted the new day and the endless possibilities held within by sending a text to JZ that read "number of times fell down:3. Number of phone calls:0. Number of bacon and egg mcmuffins consumed at stupid o'clock in the morning:1". Saturday nights are hard sometimes.

I did get to experience the glory of being the dealer for a group of randoms who had to constantly remind me of the rules of blackjack. Amazingly the dealer (that is to say, me) won almost every time. Even when I had 23. Well that's higher than anyone else on the table now, isn't it?

Despite that flush of glory, it is still hard to walk out into the dawn with a not-empty bottle of johnny walker in one hand and Nologic in the other and know that the pain is, as with the wide open road, streatching ahead of you. And what the hell is it with dawn anyway? I feel persecuted by it. I find myself longing for the end of evenings past, where dawn was a distant and theoretical construct instead of the encroaching reality that it has become. Shoo, dawn, shoo...

Thank god, then, for the Sunday Afternoon Social Club



There is something beautiful about Sunday afternoons with friends who feel as second-hand as yourself and who are ready to celebrate the small things. Like table tennis, white wine and that show about dancing.