Somehow I ended up in love with a Mexican American, and drunk on tequila and antifreeze fireball whiskey in San Diego tonight, dancing the waning full moon away to a mariachi band on my love’s 26th birthday night, speaking and singing in Spanish, and pausing to sober up by going jogging down streets named, provocatively, “Old Memory Lane,” and then, trying to find a way back, “Gravity Lane,” which quickly halted me in a forested dead end. This all seemed ominously symbolic at the time, so I turned around and jogged back up Old Memory Lane, passing an RV on the way back which read “Pride of the Heart.” I have yet to figure out what the Universe was trying to tell me. But it was a really nice night.