All introspective and shit

So yesterday I vented. Perhaps I shouldn't have, but I did. There are so many bad things in the world, and sometimes, they bother me.

And yet, today, listening to Waylon Jennings and the Clash, with the sunlight reflecting off my old wood floors, sitting upstairs with some coffee, things might not be that bad.

Sure, my house is colder than a witch's tit. Sure, Phang, the hairless one is curled up directly on one of our radiators trying to keep warm, and sure, in less than one hour I have to be bathed, spit shined, and happy to teach some stranger and her friends about wine (but, hey, they bought me at an auction for AIDS research, so it's like drinking for a cause, right?)

Alan is creating small, Cathulu creatures out of sculpy, and then sticking wool onto them. My wheel is in the corner, at rest. I have lots and lots of books, and wool, and good friends that I love. There is wine in the cellar (some of it made by us), Bud in the fridge, and food on the shelves.

All of this is good, and unexpected. I didn't dream that we would be the only white people in a high-crime neighborhood, homeowners, and that I would find a career (not a job) in wine. Ten years ago, I knew fuck-all about wine. (Some would argue that I still know fuck-all)
I always thought that we would be living in Wicker Park in a run-down loft for ever, and ever. We even have furniture that didn't come from the alley now.

Weird. Late night slut-bartender to wine professional. Ten years ago, I didn't even drink wine.
Now, it's what I do for a living. It feeds my soul.
Two years ago, I was miserable. Overworked, and on the fast track to burn out.
I let other people define who I was, and what I should do. I surrounded myself with people who were really nothing more than vampires, addicts, and in one very special episode of 'Jan's Life' a really self-involved hairdresser who nearly destroyed my faith in humanity with her 'friendship'.

Fuck them. I'm really, really happy now.

It's cold out. Now.
But the bulbs that I planted last fall will bloom, and the strawberry plants are holding on. Maybe this year we'll get fruit.