Well... if I am sitting here typing this and you are sitting there reading it?
(Oh... and I'm guessing that someone somewhen must have written the exact same words...)
Whatever it is, wherever you are... be safe...
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I watched a documentary on news correspondents who work in combat zones. Interesting to see one UK newsie dismiss PTSD as fake and a copout, and then confess to every symptom. The lad pissed me off by calling folks with PTSD liars and fakes.
There was at least one Canadian newsie on there as well. Handsome man who spends his off time calling his psychiatrist in Toronto, who's made a business of treating patients all over the world via phone.
My companion was a 17-year old bottle of Macallan's. The whiskey was very, very smooth. It made a great dessert to mixed-meat fajitas (beef, chicken and shrimp) and an excellent pico de gallo.
I went to bed before midnight. A couple of stories from the memoirs of Sherlock Holmes, as told by his biographer, Dr. Watson, about the illicit behaviours of the Reigate Squires, and the late colonel of one of the more famed Irish regiments. The rat bastard betrayed his buddy to marry the Lady Nancy.
I guess the late colonel was a Nancy-boy.
Ooh... exciting!!! Well... much more exciting than my New Years Eve anyways. And... your companion sounds slightly more potent and engaging than mine.
Waitaminute... why would you MIX beef, chicken and shrimp? What a waste! (Unless of course they were store-bought, frozen fajitas.)
And could you have perhaps picked something more depressing to do?
Sure, I could have chosen to start an online dating profile.
Single, old dude, remembers disco with disgust, punk with amusement, and hairspray, seeks chic chick who is debt free, has a credit rating above 750, and finds steak, chicken and shrimp perfect for fajitas.
Must have own retirement plan, and insurance.
Boy... you don't ask for much do you? How about adding: must be breathing, not insane, nor drooling...
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