Would that I was. Fresh off reading the Bible all the way through, about to have my first drink, my first drug, my first real make-out session (my first kiss happened in grade one with a girl named Jessica, who ironically, was not my childhood sweetheart – that was Shelley, who my parents tell me is now some kind of super junkie, so, uh, I guess I had an early type), my first summer love, my first experiences with weed, mushrooms, acid and sex (not all at thirteen, of course, though it was a close thing).

I was told how smart I was; they made it sound like natural talent, so I never felt like I needed to learn how to put effort in. Things came too easy, and that fucked me later on, when they didn’t, and I didn’t know how to buckle down and study.

Classic fixed mindset, that didn’t shift until my mid-thirties.

I backed up that insecurity with bluster and bravado.

With bullshit.

Thirty-five years later, I still fight the demons of youth.

I’m not a junkie, not yet. I’m quite possibly an alcoholic, though I’d disagree with the sentiment, given that I’m rarely drunk and don’t actually have more than about a six-pack in a week.

I just like it, okay?

Leave me alone, dad.

Fuck.

Labatt 50 was my first sip of beer, and goddamnit. It sucked.

Target: 1300 words
Written: 1140 words, novel: Bad Neighbours

Read: Magician: Apprentice, Raymond Feist
Comics: Napalm Lullaby 1-2, The Holy Roller 5, The Sacrificers 7
Music: An Evening With Neil Gaiman & Amanda Palmer, Neil Gaiman & Amanda Palmer (I know, I know, furthering my assertion that there is absolutely no correlation between skill and the relative moral quality of a particular human being - see Spacey, Kevin)

I’m so glad to be up here. I still dream of being buried in the lake.

When I die (or preferably, about to die so I get to see it all again), no Viking funeral, just take me to the deepest part of Lake Temagami, fold my hands on my chest, and let me go.

Tell them never to raise my bones.

I can find no greater peace than to lie still in the frozen waters of the great Canadian Shield, in my home.

Tell them.

These are my wishes for disposal.

(Spread my ashes if you must, if the authorities won’t allow you to sink a body without dredging me out of the lake. I would, however, prefer to be whole and at the bottom, to feed the lake with my corporeal and spiritual essence. I’ll settle for spiritual, if required.)

Otherwise, under cover of night…

Target: 1300 words
Written: 1368 words, novel: Bad Neighbours

Read: Hammered, Elizabeth Bear
Comics: The Scumbag 8-9, Deadly Class 46-47
Music: The Essential (Remaster), Concrete Blonde (love Joey)