I started messing with a book idea a few years ago called You Can’t Drink And Nobody Cares, which is something written to address the super fears of people who stop drinking, chiefly:
a) I’m a freak and a weirdo and there’s something wrong with me, and
b) Nobody’s going to want to be my friend any more and all my relationships will be ruined.
Neither of these things are remotely true, but I remember feeling them and my wife is feeling them right now.
Last night, probably because of the Joe Beef article yesterday and having read about his sobriety in a magazine a while back, I had a dream where Steven Tyler and I were hanging out and he told me to write the book. In the dream, he cut me a cheque for $50,000 and told me to quit my job and write the book.
In the dream, I didn’t really have the heart to tell him that $50,000 isn’t really “quit your job” money any more, and I’ve never really been an Aerosmith fan.
But hell, if it’s a sign, I’ll take it. Dream Steven Tyler and his zero percent body fat and botoxy face are telling me to write a book. You got it, buddy.