I find all sorts of odd places to keep notes. There are the Moleskine notebooks, which I always have knocking around. In the past year, I also have managed to try a few different things with the laptop, including posting directly to tabulas during my lunch breaks, which is an oddly public way to keep notes (but very handy for links to random crap that even I might not get around to right away)

I've been keeping a text file somewhere on the laptop for a while, usually under some moderately descriptive filename, like fortabulas.txt or ramblings.txt, or completeanduttercrap.txt. Whatever seems most appropriate. This buffer file has become surprisingly personal of late, touching on some subjects that I may not ever get around to posting here. (I know, I'm a tease.)

Maybe, if I can lift the metaphors and witticisms out of the larger discussion. "It's like walking around with a knife in my chest, and anytime she likes, all she has to do is walk up and twist". "To get all the other things, the many, varied and wonderful things that I want out of this poor fool's life, I may have to give up the one thing I want the most". "the lamentable tragedy is that both men and women, even though each will insist they understand the wretched mess better than the other sex will ever manage, are so completely wrong".

I'll skip the 100 page essay on alcoholism. (I kid. I'm nowhere near 100 pages yet.) I'll skip the suicide entry. I'm not an angsty teenager anymore, though as my 56 year old aunt recently proved, suicide isn't just for the young. (so. maybe I'll get back to the suicide entry) I'll resist the urge to go over failed relationships, though it does seem to come up a lot. Has to be a book in there somewhere, if I can force myself to write a reasonable frame story. or something.

I'm just in a blue mood. listening to requiem masses and irish drinking songs in roughly equal proportions, still not getting enough sleep, and finding myself a little dissatisfied with both the paid job and the state of my other projects. (which leads to feeling dissatisfied with myself, which leads to either angsty teenage-style writing, or to drink, depending on which well-travelled road I feel like choosing of a particular moonlight. )

In the past, either a new girl or a new novel would be enough to bring me out of minor depression. A new fear is settling in; that depression is the default state, and it's the short good times that are...

but I have to live for the good times, I guess. I owe him that much.

Raise a glass. RIP Stephen Gonter: friend, cohort, ally, accomplice, and for the past 14 years, corpse. I hope I've managed to live up to at least some of the dreams we used to talk about.

didn't know I'd be coming back to that tonight. excuse me, I need to get to liquor store before it closes. This looks like this will require some reinforcements.

I hate crying.