It’s Friday, and I’m chupacabraless, a tragedy of epic proportions. I guess I’m just a bit worn out. I’ve been working these days first thing in the morning until last thing at night, and this week has been a horror of family and business drama. On the one hand, I’m proud to sound like J.R. Ewing while threatening my brothers and various real estate tycoons with dire consequences for crossing me, but on the other, it’s maddening. In the past few days, I’ve gone through a bottle of Irish whiskey and most of a bottle of something that looked like alcohol but I’m not quite sure what it was. Even if it was really furniture polish, it did the trick.

Speaking of consumption, I think I’m up to about forty or fifty pills a day: vitamins, herbs, and various prescriptions. Even for me, this is a lot, but except for my adventures in the previous paragraph, I do feel rather balanced. Perhaps I have stumbled upon the magic combination of things that will cure all of my problems. Or almost all, but that’s the beauty part. If I can just find the right capsule to add to this concoction, POOF, there will go the real estate tycoon. I have a voodoo doll in reserve, but that may not be as satisfying as death by Vitamin C. My favorite supplement bottle right now is the probiotic, which features a crude line drawing of a colon filled with little smiley faces. That is one happy colon. Once the furniture polish is out of my system, mine may feel the same way.