I'm considering the idea that I might be an alcoholic.

Mostly because I love nothing more than hanging out in my bar.

Tonight was a perfect example. A hard 8 hour day of rehearsal (but VERY productive, we finally cracked the back of this play, I think), which lead me to want an after-work beer. So, it's off to the theatre bar ...

There was a play reading there at 7:30, a play we produced at my theatre about 4 years ago, which the playwright has subsequently developed into a longer piece, with 6 actors instead of 2.

We listened to the play, and then hung out, enjoying many more beers, until the wee hours. And I thought, as the evening progressed, where else could you experience, in one night, a play reading, a rousing game of dice, some exceptional music, and a lot of great conversation with friends.

I kind of pimped my husband, making him get up and play a couple of songs with Jackie. She leaves town tomorrow, and we all just wanted to hear her sing one more time. Fuck me, she rocks! Everyone was beside themselves when she sang and T played. A room full of skinny little white people cheering this large black woman as she sang blues songs she didn't even know the words to. Most of them just went "Oh Lord, hmmmm, Lord, hmmmmm."

And then I thought, most of my friends are here on any given night. I can hang and talk with more amazing women than I ever thought possible.

And I looked around and saw the three men I've loved most in my life, all there. Sitting at different tables. All ready to give me a lot of love.

There's T. He's all loaded down with talent and anger and complication. He doesn't alway want to be here, and he's a super-star in his world, and he doesn't always fit in. But he's kind and good, if somewhat complicated. He's my rock.

There's B. He's all poetry and love and emotion. He hugs me and kisses me and tells me I'm great. He gets up on stage and plays beautiful poetic songs with his eyes closed and makes me feel grateful for our long history.

And there's R. He's insecure. He doesn't know where he fits or what he has to offer. But he just has to flash his blue eyes at me, and touch my knee, and I feel that the world is okay. There's something simple, something about coming home, in his presence.

So, I like to hang there, in this bar. And I stay too late. And drink too much beer. And feel more alive. And wonder if I should lead a life that doesn't involve 5 nights out of 7 in a bar.

I know it's not healthy. But it sure is fun. So, maybe alcoholism isn't so bad.

Too bad I'm going to feel like shit in the morning.