Once upon a time, in the land of Who I Am, there was stability. There was a life that made sense, that progressed from point A to point B to point C, in a clear and healthy progression. Confusion was for suckers and religion was a crutch for those that were too weak to deal with the world around them, and the cold light that infused it.

There was once a time, in the land of Who I Am, where the landscape was not alternately scorched by raging, insane fires. There was once a time when all-consuming and all-drowning floods did not hide the land beneath them. When it was safe for me to stroll along the landscape, admire the serene and orderly architecture, and stare at the wondrous, perfect, stars.

This, of course, is entirely delusion. None of this has ever been real in the land of Who I Am. Except, maybe, the stars.

The fires have always raged, the floods have always engulfed, and the stars have always shone. I have always been.

The music changes, slight shift in beat, and a corresponding shift in plans. My primary mode of getting to those nasty lettered points is in the infirmary, hopefully to come out mended and healthy. My bank account will be pleasantly surprised on Monday, as my father has visited to once again save me from myself. City Club is no longer my destination for this evening’s festivities. Similar amounts of people-watching and higher amounts of Skippy-Torment ™ will ensue at 603. Intoxication, inebriation, and balls-to-the-wall drunkenness is also extremely likely.