the drugs work.

Today's episode, I've carried this in the can, so to speak, for a while.

I've been unsure.

But as I sit here on Friday morning in Boss Select, and I am awaiting the arrival of 14 people, and we will be a party of 19 this weekend.

Somehow I thought, I thought this one was appropriate.

It, and it's called The Drugs Work.

When I was writing this, it was nearly 1:00 in the afternoon.

I was sitting in the ghetto, and I hadn't read a fucking email all year.

That's how, that's what it felt like in my brain.

I dragged my skinny bone ass out of bed much earlier.

My targets for the day were locked.

I had synchronicity.

Deadlines, of course, like deadlines always, were howling at me, and my Catholic guilt was punching.

Boom.

I'm a funny cure.

I'm a funny queer mix of Catholic guilt and Presbyterian duty.

I mean, I ain't a Presbyterian, but there was a lot of them in Scotland.

And those Presbyterians, they're stomping around the room inside my head like an angry motherfucker.

I call them the voices, the voices in my head, a torrent, a rage, a rage imploring me to do more, to do better.

And this was supposed to be a goddamn serious day.

Instead, I'm sat still in my black silk Bruce Lee pajama bottoms, three coffees already slammed, magic potions mashed into my yogurt, and my laptop quietly devouring the morning like a silent thief.

And you know what? I didn't drift here.

I have to say I chose this outcome.

I cracked my eyes open.

I fired up the screen, and the hours, the hours was at a vanishing point, but they just disappear when I'm locked in that daily extinction code.

Have I welcomed you to St. Barts? I don't know.