I am about to say several things that are quite boring.

On my way home I had to buy Zinfandel at Great Wine Buys on Northeast Broadway.

I have a bad habit of getting distracted by shiny concepts.

The guy behind the counter, who looked like a skinny Mr. Clean and was wearing blue was talking to a customer who was apparently a regular.

“You should take our Sauvignon Blanc class in June.”

Overhearing this and having no social graces, I said: “I want to take the Sauvignon Blanc class in June.”

Of course that was a thirty dollar pre-paid obligation I created for myself. But I really, really like Sauvignon Blanc. In fact, if I had to call it, I’d say it’s my favorite wine of all.

In respect to the title of this post, I am inexplicably, vapidly, crushingly exhausted. There is no reason for this. I got home, I thumped down the bottle of Zinfandel and crept around, growling, for an hour or so.

Now I’m off to the dinner party that warrants this wine, and hoping that I can be worthy of company.

I’m even typing funny. Whomp whomp whomp.

p.s. I’m the snot monster. I can’t get rid of this cold. Perhaps it’s cancer.