Spare me the "Gosh you should look into some sort of 12-step" shite.  I’m drunk, again.  And, it’s 2:13 AM on Monday night.  I just walked in the door, to a slew of emails and whines from the dog.  And, I heard myself saying, "Baby, those underwear are not for you."  Linus would love nothing more than to regale my underwear.  Fine, gross.  But that’s the deal.  I’m tired and quite frankly don’t know how I’ll make it  to work tomorrow, but I will, mostly because I have lunch plans.  I have nothing of substance to say other than, I say, "I hate you" too freely.  Like, if I really like someone, I pull out the, "I hate you."  I hate anyone who makes me unglued and messy and straddling situations.  But I feel most alive in that situation, so I love them and hate them for it…. because it happens so fast and never lasts.  Fast rarely lasts, but it can.  I’ve seen it happen.  And I know this is all very esoteric, so ignore this drunken post.  Know only this: I came home to a whining dog who wants nothing more than my underwear.  And I’ll fall asleep after I make myself climax at least twice.  It’s one of those nights.  One time is just a relaxation technique.  It doesn’t count.  Whatever, I wish I had the right person to share these moments with, but we know, we know, that’s not a new wish.  In the meanwhile, it’s me, masturbating until I laugh in climax, and me shooing my dog away from my Saturday on a Monday panties.  Because, I can.