Single malt scotch, and chocolate

I was talking last night to a friend who thinks he's changed, having been to therapy.

He's one of those sorts of men who says things like, o, now I understand women, as if he's discovered the essence of dark matter, which I take to mean that he either understands women less than he did before or he completely misunderstands women, thinking women are so different as to not being human in the way men are human.

We talked until 2 in the morning. I drank a little single-malt Scotch and ate some beef jerkey; he devoured a Hershey bar with almonds.

I stayed up for awhile after he left, writing by hand in my notebook the following:

1) can one be both creator and critic?

2) never underestimate the importance to the individual of feeling that he or she is special

3) men with bald spots roam the world

4) Memory is history, and History is infinity

5) what if you get to a place, a point, in your life where you only love yourself...then what happens?

6) at some point--now, tomorrow, the indefinite future--you can't help but start living your own biography

Then I walked upstairs and went to sleep.

The first few of seventeen steps to the author's bedroom, 3 a.m., November 10, 2018. Photo by author.