I thought that the recent blur over my life was because of alcohol, but I'm coming to realize that the blur is there even when I'm not drinking. It's not that I forget things, it's just that I don't remember things; things that I have recollection of seeing but can't remember if they actually happened. The blur that wipes a dirty towel over little fragments of my memory and makes them cloudier and fuzzier with every stroke leads me to believe that it's not the problem with alcohol that is making my life a little more surreal with every little thing I try and try again to recall. In fact, I breathe a sigh of relief at the possibility that I'm just losing my mind. I'd like much more for the subliminal messages in my life to involve the clinically insane knocking on my door with their brains in jars that bake in the sun, rather than self-induced destruction by means of a PBR flying down the length of the bar, courtesy of the guy in the pin-striped suit at the other end. Richard, I believe his name was.