“We’re Spartans,” he says.

Parking Lot in NYC

Him: We’re not like everyone else.
Me: Then what are we?
Him: (laughing) We’re Spartans.

My craptastic week continues with the added bonus of insomnia. My hands haven’t been shaking, so it’s not terrible yet. But I feel it coming.

Was supposed to go to my fencing instructor’s 60th birthday party last Friday as well as do some other things but we make our plans and God laughs. Spent it instead dealing with things I’ll have to tell you about someday.

A buddy came by and met up with me at my local dive bar where I self-medicated with several pitchers of cheap beer and deep fried fowl. We traded our stories of woe. Everyone has a sad story to tell, which makes sense: Life is sad.

Luckily, we have friends and readily available alcohol to help us overcome the blows.

“We’re Spartans,” he says. Yes, and I can deal with my problems one at a time. If only they came that way; if only they came one at a time.

Her: Did you have a good time?
Me: (plopping into bed) It was good to get out.
Her: Good, I’m glad you went. (sniffing) Whoa, you smell like a bar!
Me: Mission accomplished!

Location: home, waiting
Mood: unhappy
Music: see sunshine, I thought I didn’t have to run, now I’m duckin

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