“Mornings are for regretting the things that you did when you should have been sleeping.” ~Arthur Byron

Once again, the Catholic Church has it correct, and we have it fucked up: January 1st is the solemnity of Mary, the Holy Mother of God. It is a day that we should spend in church, giving thanks for the blessings of the previous year and praying, while reflecting on the Four Last Things, for an increase in faith, hope, and charity for ourselves and for our loved ones for the coming year. However, like most people, I spent the evening and early morning in revelry at a party. Now, my lovelies, let us not misconstrue: I enjoy entertaining and being entertained. I had a grand time, even though a neighbor both slapped me and poured a glass of water on me. (After I returned the favor [I did not slap HER *said in a Tommy Wiseau’s imitation*], we called a truce.) I mean, what man would not enjoy an excuse to kiss every woman with impunity in his vicinity simply because because both hands on a clock are pointing toward 12? I sure as hell did. Still, I drank more than I should have; I said more than I should have; I touched, ahem, more than I should have.

Verily, verily, I am an anti-social introvert. [This is the volta to the prosaic sonnet that I have just typed.] I  should have been a monk. The saint of my birthday is Saint Bruno, founder of the Carthusians, the most isolated and most private of all religious orders. For those who want to explore this order further, check out this magisterial documentary. Yet, for all my books and intellectual interests, I want to be surrounded by people. I could pray the rosary, or I could gaze at your breasts.

Edited: had to remove incriminating information. That is what happens when I post when drunk.

Sheesh, one of my informal resolution-esque resolutions was to stop drinking alone, for when I do, I give myself away.