Hello again! Oh dear, the party has started without me. This was to be expected, indeed I had anticipated it, and yet to find that the expected had in fact come to pass does soemwhat dampen the spirit.
And yet, speaking of spirits…
I’m currently enjoying Wild Turkey (101) on the rocks. I have these charming glasses from Crate and Barrel or Pottery Barn, no longer available it would seem, that conveniently have a carved-in-the-glass line to show to what point to pour, and a second line to show how much ice to add. A better glass for the modern, efficient drunkard I cannot imagine. The glasses are also extremely sturdy and seem next to unbreakable. With any luck someone will make them once again available for purchase, and you can get a set as well.
I had planned to write more of the NaNoWriMo novel tonight. It is still a possibility, but then again there are two main interruptions. To wit:
1) I have been drinking. Experience says that I can write things of interest during the first few drinks, but interest drops as blood level alcohol rises. I’ve had (…counting…) four ddrinks (I left in the typo for your benefit) and am on my fifth. This si (again!) not so bad. Worthwhile fiction is still a possibility. And yet…
2) I am distracted by love. OK, not love. Strong affection. The reason that I am late to the NaDruWriNi party is that I was on a date. (Please imagine the italics as announced in a stage whisper.) And the date went terribly, surprisingly, startlingly well, apparently on both sides. There were charming little mock arguments, a certain amount of hand-holding, and kissing of a very promising variety. Yes.
And but so (to borrow a phrase) I have noticed in the past that good dating events tend to interrupt the writing incentive. One drifts into various reveries when one should be writing.
Must one be alone/unhappy to create fiction? A sad thought.
Will this dating interest happen upon this intoxicated-in-various-ways blog entry?
My glass seems to be empty. Excuse me a moment.