Hands and whiskey

I think I'm going crazy. I need to step back and slap myself, you know what I mean? I should stop thinking.

I'm still sick. I've been sick forever I guess. Cold. Sore throat. Sore nose. Sor-e-ority.

Oh, I have a new character for my novel - a tall guy with long hands walking down my street and rocking his hands to and fro. Seriously. I wish I could jump out the window and have whiskey with him in the leftist bar around the corner. I am not quite sure (and never will be probably) whether he is red or not, but I like his hands. I love hands.

I told you I am going crazy.