Well, I'm in the holiday spirit. It's 5:44pm and I am almost done with my list for the day. I look great, feel great. Everything is great. Last night I thought of how I should spend the rest of my youth. How? Learning and fucking.

Another thing I'm going to write about in my sports story is how all these men talk about their first baseball game as if it were the greatest, most magical moments of their lives. They'll never talk about their first piece of ass that way, but they will vividly describe the green-ness of the grass, the blue of the sky, the bulge of Mickey Mantle's jock cup, the tightness of Ted Williams' ass, etc...

I'm working on a piece for my writers' group. It is about how I have never understood how anyone could be interested in sports. I mean, could anyone pick a more boring subject? Who cares what the Giants/Eagles/Pats/Packers do or don't do? Why don't people root for themselves? Why aren't people interested in themselves? Why are they always cheering the accomplishments of others? Not only that, but most sports games are CONFUSING? What the hell is a First Down? What does off-sides mean. And who the hell knows WHAT goes on with baseball!

I suppose the only sport I ever liked was boxing because it is rather uncomplicated.

On Friday I was in Barnes and Noble and I came across a book called "Understanding the Borderline Mother." Reading it, I realized that my mother had a form of Borderline Personality Disorder.

See, nothing was ever "reasonable." It was never: "What you did was wrong. I will now punish you until you learn that what you did was wrong." It was: "YOU FRIGGIN' ASSHOLE! YOU FRIGGIN' SHITHEAD! I HATE YOU! I HATE YOU! I HATE YOU! YOU SPOILED GODDAMN BRAT! YOU SPOILED ROTTEN GODDAMN BRAT! I HATE YOU! YOU FRIGGIN SHITHEAD! YOU FRIGGIN ASSHOLE!"

With her everything was, um, well "personal." It was never about us, but always about her. And with kids nothing is "personal" because kids are, um, kids. And when you are a parent your first priority is to do what is right for the child. She only knows how to satisfy her own base needs at the expense of everyone else.

More on this later... I'm still healing. I haven't felt better in ten years, but I am still healing.

Today I saw an old enemy on the train. She looked old and sour.

I, on the other hand, feel great. I look great. I feel great. I jog 3-4 times a week. I work out my upper body on my jogging off days. I stay up all night and sleep until noon every day. I never do this thing called "work." On top of everything else I am talented, creative, and intelligent - and I am finally getting the recognition I deserve. I have not been this happy in ten years.

She saw me. I pretended I did not see her. I talked on the phone, animatedly. I was pleasant to the conductor. I smiled. Why? Because smiles scare away bad energy. She saw that I was happy. And I was not even faking!

After sex and personal accomplishment, watching enemies suffer must be the third best high. Better than any drug. I was in a great mood all day.

I no longer have to worry about metaphysical punishment. Nor do I have to worry about metaphysical nihilism. Am I becoming religious. Yes, but not in a flesh-denying way. I agree with Rabelais that it is more important to be a good fellow and a good drinking buddy than it is to be pious and devout. That's religion. Religion of the spirit and flesh. Both easily reconciled. In other words, one can be extremely religious without giving in to any dogma at all. And one can be religious while still loving to fight and fuck. My own antinomianism.

It's 432am and I am just still too caffeinated despite the fact that the last sip of coffee I had was almost exactly 12 hours ago. Feeling sad too. Not depressed. Just sad. I think of that Toad the Wet Sprocket song "Walk on the Ocean" and how sad it is.