Or being home. I was hoping that a miracle cure for the funk that I'm in would appear when the plane landed in Des Moines. Not hardly. In fact I find that I'm just as confused as ever, and still longing to become an alcoholic. In fact, I told Misty and Bob, and Earache at dinner that I'd been planning to "live my giver a rest" now that I was home. Four margaritas later, I was feeling pretty good and to top it all off, I've still got my liver. Or my giver, what the fuck.