Where's The Grit?

Its so simple...just walk around the house for a few hours, spend a bit of time stretching the elasticity into your muscles, swear at the keyboard and finally, you're off to the beginning...voices that materialize out of nowhere, voices that you're not sure you ever heard and then the eerie sound of a dropped bottle in the downstairs basement that crashes with its silent trail of goop that leaves a trail calling out to be cleaned up, but maybe not yet...

In the midst of all this you suddenly find yourself remembering you had invited some people over that you're not having seconds thoughts about, with a higher-than-normal pulse rate telling you not to open the door...they have been drinking and it is late, and furthermore they now tell you that then have to sleep over because they have to...as they wander into the house I look at my one half-drunk beer and feel I could be in for a very long night...after all I never turn anyone away but I'm starting to get a little closer to say something I will most likely regret, so to avoid saying it I just don't...everybody I know drinks and they never seem to suffer for it...if they stay overnight I'll want them to leave but it's too late and we all pretend we're having a great time...two of them are writing a screenplay and drunk or sober they will wind up with a screenplay, a very good screenplay called "Hanging On."