I'm Glad I'm Not Me.

The birthday party turned out rather well. No neighbors, no cops, no swat team, no KGB. Not even any vomit or broken glass, just a small(ish) crowd of very good friends and fun times all around. I even received a few delightful birthday presents, including one very charming wind-up back-flipping yellow monkey (though it might be a mouse in a monkey suit, I'm not sure), who I've appropriately named Napoleon III. I've wanted one of these for years, and have often hinted to friends my desire for one, but it was not until last night that this dream was fulfilled. There is one drawback to this gift, however, which is that it serves as a constant reminder that a wind-up monkey toy is in much better physical shape than I am, and is capable of much more daunting acrobatic feats than I could currently hope to preform. Perhaps it'll be a good incentive for me to quit smoking, though I think the likelihood of that pales in comparison to the likelihood that my monkey toy will start smoking, which, given its lack of opposable thumbs and free will, is not particularly likely.

It's gotten pretty bad. I'm currently in that murky area between half a pack and a pack a day, and I sure as hell don't seem to be cutting back very quickly. As a matter of fact, in a bizarre coincidence, I happen to be smoking a cigarette while writing this very sentence. I have no justification for it, and find myself (as many smokers do) in the situation of being a total hypocrite when it comes to cigarettes. I can only find some solace in the fact that my apparent doppelganger, Mr. Zimmerman, who smoked "100 cigarettes a day" (according to an article quoted in "Don't Look Back") is still alive. After reading the article in the documentary, Dylan responded: "I'm glad I'm not me!" I, like Dylan, am also not me, and very glad of it.

-Matthew