Why yes, I amkicking back to watch TV with a pewter goblet of coffee and my footstool does bear a small resemblance to a ancient Grecian Column. What do you mean, by that? No, I'm notinebriated or otherwise artificially distanced from reality. I'm a writer, Ilive here, in my own world, not in Realsville. I ride my homicidal unicorn overwhen I have to go there, but I try not to stay any longer than necessary.
I like it here.Where exactly, you say? Right now it's best described as a mildly psychoticcross between an episode of hoarders, a Nordic shrine to Wolverine, and thecampfire scene in "O' Brother, Where Art Thou?" That's what's it'slike here today. Tomorrow? Who knows? (Maybe the Doctor Who/black muscle carinterior/Badassary.com place will return?) I can never tell. On occasion, iteven resembles Realsville. I dread those days. Don't you?