I had one helluva good time last Saturday at my early birthday party. It was a relatively small gathering by Carbondale party standards, but I like how smaller gatherings actually let me talk to people. It had a good mix of work friends, D&D friends, and political friends. And truth be told, most of these qualifiers are arbitrary since in most cases, our friendship runs deeper than the context we may have met in. With such good friends gathered together, a good time was almost inevitable. We talked, we joked, we made simple music, we ate yummy foods, we played games, and more. We laughed; we cried; we hurled; and a good time was had by all.
For one night, then, I found myself celebrating the joy that is life. In fact, I found myself feeling very happy and fulfilled well into the next day, despite the fact that I had to work. But somehow, some peculiar warp in my consciousness always seems to take blissful experiences and eventually convert them into fuel for my restless, relentless, infamous, almost manic revolutionary impulse. And so, less than 24 hours after the start of a party that gave me a renewed sense of joy and satisfaction in life, I found myself feeling a renewed and more fervent commitment to the question of revolution.