We had a record number of people through the haunted house tonight, in spite of the rain: 123!
And then I went out for some fun.
I am home again, though, safe and sound. Kept to my better judgment, to the utter disappointment of my id. Oh, for the ability to leap between alternate realities! To be able up slide into different endings and be able to choose a path without the inevitable repercussions… Hit rewind and go again.
My head stays annoyingly sober when I am drunk, you see. Half of my mind comments dryly and with annoyingly accurate detail and judgement on my activities. The Id is let on a length of leash, but there is still a jolt when the end is reached. I care about the ending, about damage and reputation and impacts, and so I stick to self-and socially-imposed limits to having fun, which ends up feeling like not much fun even though fun was had. I am inebriated, but careful, in spite of the devil on my shoulder urging me to throw years — decades — of relative caution to the wind. My author brain sees the road diverging and my conscience saves me from the worst choice, even though the way home is still littered with regrets. Imagination is a curse at these moments.
I am anchored in a storm. Tethered and whipped about by forces I cannot control but must resist, for continuing peace (relatively speaking). Life is not fair and it never has been. I am safe at home, in my bed.