Does being unflappable and drama free mean you get years worth of it in one dose or am I just stressed out?

erm, anyone would be all stressed out by that.

I AM DRINKING SO FAST RIGHT NOW I AM CHOKING AND YET SOMEHOW TYPING

Wow. I had to work late tonight. In comparison my life seems so.... droll.

Whoa. I feel better now about the poo accident that wasn't an accident in the bedroom, the bathroom, and the bathtub.

Still pissed off though. Drinking. Drinking is tempting.

It is over. My carpet is ruined. I needed to druik a lot. I then did some notes for a story. Here they are, in the interests of an open internet community, here are raw unedited drunk whelk short story notes. Ahem.

Muslimish lesbian female character, black American straight male character but kinda femmy. Going to the New Island. A long long time is a very long time round cape horn to cally oh the new island. No I can't be pregnant, no sir, I could not have been with these things. I hate what happens to the scarf, it's just a thing you do that you have to not an article of a faith it's been so degraded, have you seen the patterns with ads on them? a fashion statement, you wear that pin, my MOTHER gave me that pin. Over sexed guy ended up oddly sexless on the island, think crabs and male castration, it's about 12 miles across,

the birds, carrying off the worms of the island. you don't understand! it goes all the way down into the gut, into the spinal cord. Should be told in flashbacks, modern day

the worm, husks, the strange quality of the island of the new new world of jagged edges that point to nothing like sentences finished halfway or incomplete metaphors, a stump in an avance, the entire island was a mistake.

is this the part where I snap my fingers? The island IS an imcomplete metaphor. The reader should know that by the money shot third act.

Islands by their very nature are inocmplete metaphors - tiny swaths of land that lead - where, exactly? Chances are you end up circling back to where you began the hike, saying stupid shit like "Hey Maude, isn't that the same palm tree as was outside the hotel this morning?"

Meanwhile, Maude, who's close to menopausal but still up for a good romp, is sweating through her thong, which you still haven't seen yet, because at the last minute she didn't unveil it no matter how many Kon Tiki Wana Kau Haul'es she drank at the Pineapple Hut.

So now, it's like 11:30 am, and while the island's gotta be only like 10 miles round-trip from valet to volcano, you and old Maude there are spent. Sweaty, discombobulated and entirely needful of some kind of hidden vitamin they sell at the Kuo'hale Gift Shop that you always say you'll invest in as you pass by going to the Mango Tango Buffet.

But you remember: old Maude's a gamer! She could drink those louts from Alpha Sigma Nu not only under the table, but under the crawlspace of the frat house! (Man how we laughed at that shit, amirite???)

But still and all, the Reader, who is now fresh back at the page after getting a nice bevelled glass filled with roughly 16 oz. of spring water, should be grokking the themes of uncompleted-metaphor-as-island.

Or at least you hope so, becaues if not, that next Con is going to be a right royal bitch and the cosplay won't really help on that score.

Remember to pack extra Sharpies.

Fit in parasitic sea worms and you've got a deal.

I really expected better of you LP. This South Pacific and South Of the Waistline fantasia is just beneath you I never said the island was warm.

Is it because I got balloons? You can tell me. The balloons were pretty awesome.

I'm so in love with both of you right now.

Freaks.

*also loves, but in a rugged, manly kind of way*