I would really like to be a professional drug addict. Not in street person sad kind of way, but in the Elvis way.

Last night I decided that I have to start doing drugs again if I want to stop drinking. Not bad drugs. Just fun drugs.

Do you have any idea of what I'm talking about?

I realize sometimes that this journal is all just a guessing game for anyone but me.

So last night, my cousin, my roommate and I ate some magic cookies and had a great night.

We wrapped up the evening around 5:30AM, in my bedroom, which has now been dubbed "the dorm." That happened on Friday, when friend came over with a six pack and a pack of smokes and walked immediately into my room for a session. Friday was my "night off," I guess you can see how that goes around here.

Let's touch on Friday, shall we? Friend came over and we tied a load on, in the dorm, talking about life and people and how we are so much more than what we do now. We talked about writing and friend said something interesting. She said, "I guess I've been waiting for some big movement to happen in my life. Something monumental that deserves a story."

And I agreed with her. Suddenly it dawned on me that that's what I've been doing. Waiting for that *big* thing. Not recognizing the stories I have already. If I wait around for life experience to come and be recognized, I may wait forever and let my opportunity to pass me by.

Cut to Saturday. We went out downtown until A. decided his passport for below 14th St. had run out and he made the executive call that we were leaving. I didn't mind, because I was having a fabulous time thanks to the cookies, and in truth would have liked a chance to sit at a table and talk.

We headed uptown and did just that. It was great. It seems like so long since I've spoken to my cousin, who is newly engaged, or my roommate. My cousin got sentimental and told us how proud of us she was and my roommate told me that if I want to write about the search, it *is* my story to tell and I shouldn't feel like it's not. Those are my experiences, even though it wasn't my husband or my family member.

I started to think about it and I realized, she's right. It is my story. I lived it. It's my perspective of what we did. And I would like to tell the whole story. This is something I am going to be working on.

I guess we finally rested around 6AM, with my cousin sleeping over, and then woke up around 9AM, so she could head back. I napped again until 1:30PM, when my phone started ringing for Playoff plans.

I'm really bummed that football season is over. Football season is so great. It gives you a reason to look forward to Sundays. It's ok to drink on Sundays during football season, because you have to go watch football! And the bars are filled with hot guys. It's really unbelievable. And, there's never a line for the ladies room, because it's all men in there and they have to let you go first. Tonight, some guy shared his stool with me, we rotated every quarter while I was waiting there alone for my friends. How great is that?

Our whole bar was filled with Eagles fans, which was brilliant and unusual for Manhattan. Someone brought an Eagles tapestry and hung it from one of the televisions.

I was really disappointed that the 'birds lost, but not nearly as sad as the guy in the McNabb jersey at the bar who was slumped forward, head down in his chair, crying in his beer at the end of the game as his girlfriend stroked his head. That was a sorry site.

So, overall, it's been a good weekend, and I am working on getting off the sauce for a month or so.

Shouldn't be so hard now that football season is over.

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