There's a crazy lot going on inside my head these days. So much so that I've hardly known whether I'm coming or going, I find myself unable to do simple things like form complete sentences, and it all feels a little overwhelming.
Nothing really bad, mind you, I'm just in a discombobulated mental state I've not seen for a few years. It'll pass shortly.
This is all by ways of explaining why I found myself drinking my ninth vodka tonic (Ninth. Vodka. Tonic. And a shot to toast Stacy's hair.) at Buttermilk at 2 am on a Wednesday night with Shiv, Alice, Taylor's best friend Connie's roommate Stacy, a very drunk guy named Joe who declaimed loudly that he wished he lived in antiquity, because 18 year old boys and 18 year old girls look just the same from behind, and who later turned out to be Stacy's ex-boyfriend, a very nice guy named Jeremy who may have been selling pot, and his fiancee who brought cheese.
I expect the sitcom deal to go through any day now.