I was in the Baltimore Penn Station and I remembered being there a year ago asking my brother what I should do when I got home. He reminded me of something:
You're 33. How can someone that you've been with for four years define you? What'd you do before her?
I told him the same thing once before.
I'm troubled again, but this time, for totally different reasons.
I was going to make a peanut butter and marmalade sandwich but instead had a rendezvous with a single-barrel, seven-year rum. No oranges.
This week is going to be very unpleasant but I just told someone here that life has it's highs and lows. Life's like that.