I'm laying in the ruins of my own new lifestyle. Tipped over bottles of ***** aside, I still feel okay. I wonder if the world's crusted over pedestals still condescend to me or if I have gone beyond their gaze. There are little plastic fairy tales dancing around in my head like tipsy gumdrops. What wonders shall spring from this: (the new day, the old day, the ever increasingly frequented day) except hangovers and light thoughts about how I'm handling this well, I'm handling this extremely well. Again. I still feel okay as long as there is 80 proof to wake up to.