All I'm saying is that it would be very difficult not to write.  I don't know, that's life in a nutshell for me.

Wake up on couch after dream of remembering the bright face of the Princess expectant of my not being awkward with her after our affection for each other came out from some old classroom long ago, the way her face would shine, the brightness of her look up at me, and then I'm awake and I have to go get ready for work, after three exhausting nights, and this one is going to be shitty too.

I get a text from old Phil Tombow, you working tonight...  Oh, goddamn, the night I'd rather just dial it in, anonymously, and there's more coming the barman's way because there's a large party, say, 24 Frenchies in for a planned menu dinner, they'll churn it out downstairs, but upstairs, I'll take the spill over and it's not going to be pretty and the kitchen at the old Gaul will be backed up, and when the regulars show up for wine-tasting night it will amount to them watching gleefully as I bleed out my enthusiasm on the floor, disgusted, sad, trying to entertain, all of them smiles, but me having to deal with New York Bar lawyers and their wives, and the delay from down below from the kitchen after I fire entrees has become ridiculous, and the wine we are supposed to be tasting is only about four bottles so what's the point I have to improvise...

And oh, people who usually eat downstairs have decided it would be better to come up and dine up at the wine bar, but I've got a whole show and here they all come, clamoring, telling their stories, and reservations are made and I don't even know about them but here they are, all showing up...  Just as they did at 5:45...  expecting me to jump for joy upon their arrival, oh, how nice to see you, except that they are kind enough to mention my Facebook post acknowledging the strange fact that it's been fifty years since Kerouac met his death, working in his favorite chair, writing about his father's print shop and all of a sudden he has nausea and goes to the bathroom vomiting a hemorrhage of blood...

I finally get rid of the last neighbor at the bar, a good Christian woman, who has invited me to Spook-eghti and Meatballs...  I get the bus home, fall upon the couch with the kitchen light still on, and now, errh, erhr, erhrr, my cell phone is vibrating off the ikea coffee table, or course, guess who...  1:30 AM...  my heart is not in a good place as far as beating...