say when

it was one of those sunday nights where nothing-- not even the cosby show-- has healing powers as magical as meg's armchair. we were sharing a lemon bar and watching her netflix-ed grey's anatomy, and i was gently stitching my liver back together... when it happened. the line.

I have an aunt who, whenever she poured anything for you, she would say "Say when". My aunt would say "Say when" and of course, we never did. We don't say when because there's something about the possibility of more. More tequila, more love, more anything. More is better.

and then there was this:

There's something to be said about a glass half full. About knowing when to say when. I think it's a floating line-- a barometer of need and desire. It's entirely up to the individual, and depends on what's being poured. Sometimes all we want is a taste...other times there's no such thing as enough, the glass is bottomless. And all we want is more.

damnit, meg. now i might have to start watching grey's anatomy... i can't have TWO shows. boulder will put a bounty on my head.
it was around 10 when i got home, and just as i went to turn off my phone and hibernate, peter called. "hello?" it began, and two hours later we were both out of battery and winded from an intensely fantastic conversation. probably one of the top five phone calls i've ever had. and, in the tradition of weird jane-isms, it ended with this painfully true line from the *amazing* book i'm reading:
"but over and over we shall encounter in this narrative the disastrous consequences of applying utter logic to a false premise."

utter logic-- when applied to something as small as a shot glass or as big as a community-- can be the most dangerous thing in the world if applied to a false premise. but once the curtain has been pulled back to expose the great and powerful oz as just a guy with a few levers, has the plug been pulled? or can the premise be salvaged fast enough to keep you afloat?