THE TOWNHOUSE

On September 17, 2000 (but a wee first month freshman in college)
I scribbled in the journal that I kept at the time,
"I could write 4 million words on last night. It wouldn't even come close, so I'll simply say- Go out. Do acid. Dance."

All current opinions aside regarding the hazards and downfalls of recreational drug use. I will only say that times have certainly changed. Because, as of this evening, January 31, 2006 (but a wee 24 year old in the middle of a room occupied primarily by senior citizens) my main sentiment is that,
"I could write 5 million words on tonight. It wouldn't even come close, so I'll simply say- Go out. Drink at a piano bar. Sing."

And in retrospect, the awareness will make itself clear, sooner or later, that this road only moves forward.
You can feel young, old or ancient dependent on your surroundings. Honestly, you can feel fit, fat or sexy- smart, dumb or retarded- interesting, pathetic or invisible dependent on your surroundings too.

But, be forever aware that this is our only chance.
Our only chance to make a fool of ourselves.
Our only chance to drink more than we should.
Our only chance to sing in front of a room filled with strangers.
Our only chance to come home, alone, as it should be. And feel the desire to write 5 million words on "tonight."

Because it's over
already
and really,
it's barely even just begun.