Some mornings, it’s simply a treat to wake up...

With a firm...

Hot dog...

In between her buns.

With no further ado, and without fanfare, I present the books read in 2023.

1. The Shadow of the Wind - Carlos Ruiz Zafón
2. The Prestige - Christopher Priest
3. The Canterbury Tales - Geoffrey Chaucer
4. Spark - Holly Schindler
5. The Pillars of the Earth - Ken Follett
6. Grace - Nicolas Canon
7. You Are an Author - Matt Rudnitsky
8. The Shallows - Nicholas G. Carr
9. Managing Oneself - Peter F. Drucker
10. The Sand Pebbles - Richard McKenna
11. The Money Stones - Ian St. James
12. Same as Ever - Morgan Housel
13. Exercised - Daniel Lieberman
14. A Report from Group 17 - Robert C. O’Brien
15. Edge of Collapse - Kyla Stone
16. Loving Women - Pete Hamill

Oh, the games we play with ourselves!

For instance, I excel at hiding things from myself. Truly!

And I tell myself I HATE when I do this.

Yet, clearly I do not. For why would I continue to play a game that I hate? Is that not… madness?

I must love the mystery in rediscovering what safe place I decided to store that item.

I must. What fun!

Well, I avoided Whamhalla. Yet, it’s kind of a hollow victory. Because I do like the song.

It’s a great pop song, about unrequited love, which I happen to know a little about. Avoiding it stripped a bit of the joy of the holiday season.

I can say I survived Whamaggedon 2023, for the novelty of it, and to say it IS possible. But in the future, I don’t think I’ll play.

What i'm listening to:

Last Christmas
Wham!
Music from the Edge of Heaven

There is a quote by the late George Sanders:

My own desire, as a boy, was to retire.

This is my desire as well. I want to be wealthy. Stupid wealthy. And lazy. I don’t want to do anything for this wealth.

And I don’t want to get old. At least not before the wealth happens. There are far too many twenty-something women out there.

Will my life change dramatically when this occurs? No. Resoundingly no.

I will still spend the majority of my day reclined. Probably reading. Or napping. Just elsewhere. Anywhere.

Because I am lazy. If only I could afford it.

Her name is Danielle. At least that’s what she told me.

And on a night seventeen years ago, she told me I was undateable. That didn’t stop us from having some fun. A lot of fun. That wasn’t the point.

I’m still undateable, although now it’s by choice. I don’t want to marry. I don’t even want to date. I don’t want to regularly threaten my peace. My solitude.

Is that strange? Really, is it?

It’s a rare soul who is comfortable in a room. Alone. With no distractions.

Many nights, I’m comfortable with Pascal’s torment.

Yet not all. I still have wants. Needs. Desires.

And there are so many beautiful women out there. With their wants. Needs. Desires.

When she walks into the room, our eyes meet. We both know what we want. We both know we can have the other. Pure love radiates between us, bringing the temperature up in the room ever so slightly.

No, I’ll never be your husband. I’ll never be your boyfriend.

But I’ll be your lover... forever.

Yes. I’d like that. Very much.

Come. Into my world. It’s fantastic here.

What i'm listening to:

Still Crazy After All These Years
Paul Simon
Still Crazy After All These Years

My body hurts so bad, I don’t want to move.

Yet... if I don’t move—today, or tomorrow, or this week—my body will continue to hurt. And weaken. And hurt more.

What happened to the walker? The runner? All of the press-ups?

Where is that guy?

If you like her—and I do, like her—there is really only one guideline before hitting “Send.”

Will it make her smile?

Okay. Hit “Send.”

If you believe in the power of magic
It's all a fantasy
So if you need to believe in someone
Just pretend it's me
It ain't enough that we meet as strangers
I can't set you free
So will you turn your back forever on what you mean to me?

Don't answer me, don't break the silence
Don't let me win
Don't answer me, stay on your island
Don't let me in

Run away and hide from everyone
Can you change the things we've said and done?

What i'm listening to:

Don’t Answer Me
The Alan Parsons Project
Ammonia Avenue