Year One

7/28/12- I woke up on the floor of my apartment. 7:37am. There's flecks of broken glass scattered across the floor from a picture frame I've punched. There's a shotgun blast of cuts on my right hand. I don't have a headache yet. I have the premonition of a headache. I'm mucky swamp gas water trapped in a rubber glove. I lurch up to the sink and retch void. I take a swig out of a mostly empty Bacardi Superior 5th and wash the liquor and the gag following on its heels down with water straight from the tap. I gasp and repeat.

That was my last drink. I'm not naive or cocky enough to say it will be my last drink ever but I hope it is. I plan on it being.

A lot of things have come full circle this year. I'm single again but this time with significantly less despair and significantly more hope. I had a Second City callback this afternoon for the first time after a couple disastrous attempts. Groh Show has started recording again. I have a line on a new motorcycle, last year at this time my old bike gave up the ghosts. Life feels rich.

We need rituals. Something to pass and mark the time. Something to acknowledge the uniqueness, the shine of a given moment.

I harvested my cherry tomatoes, eight in total, and sat on the roof. I ate them slowly savoring each one. Bright and crisp and clean. And gave thanks to those disembodied spirits looking out for yours truly.

I am alive.