Damn, I really do love the taste of Guinness. My favorite of beers. My friends hate it, and they don't know why I drink it, after pointing out that it has a very low alcohol content. But I don't drink a beer to get drunk; I drink 13 to get drunk. I'd like to drink one I like the taste of, instead of some watered-down pisslager. Only drawback to my choice is, it costs about $4-5.00 per. And most places don't even have it.

Life sucks sometimes. It really does. Other times, I find that I just don't really care. It's then that I know the worst is staring at me from behind, and I'm fighting not to look back at it. Not to give it the satisfaction.

I was driving earlier today, and I happened upon a pleasant memory of when I was in my old minivan with my ex and my friend Scott: we were driving home at maybe 10 to midnight, and I can't remember if it was from TX renfest or from NOLA, but we had my old black&white TV up on the dash and we were watching old Red Dwarf coming in patchy, laughing and having a moment. It was maybe a couple months before the two decided they would hate the other and treat me as no man's land. I remember things just as they were in slowmotion. It reminded me of what I sometimes, despite myself, wished as an afterlife.

My Guinness is empty now. It's the last one. I always rail on about how miserable my memory is -- but it's that congenital defect that keeps me alive and shrugging along in the dull ache of life.