I thought I’d never eat lunch in this town again. I have the perverse habit of cataloging all of my foibles, missteps and boo-boos. When I look back at my droppings over the years, I see I’ve held nothing back. CLM’s as they say, career limiting moves. It seems I couldn’t help myself. I’m almost my own third person biographer. Whatever that means.

I didn’t think I got any therapeutic value out of disgorging all that tragic information at the time. But I’m starting to think I did. I sense a plot unfolding.

When I read back over some of my reflux, I realize that the mix of senseless chaos, tragedy, ruination and heartbreak is starting to come together like a finely crafted novel.

I better not start believing my own press. Because you know where that will get me. : )