12:48 a.m. I realize now that it's all about control. Total control and the total lack of it.

You see, when I have people over, I try to prepare, prepare, prepare. Think about contingencies. Make enough of the right kind of foods, have enough napkins, paper towels, paper plates, soda, beer, wine, chips, and salsa. The usual.

Before a party begins, I have a lot of fun imagining how much fun I'm going to have. Can't wait to see Old So-and-So, I think. We will talk up a storm. If my pre-party work is all done, as it was yesterday, I can play records while I wait for that last long half-hour to unreel from the clock ... before the first guests arrive ... watch the trapped bird fly from rafter to rafter ... pick up any stray lint from the rug ... try the first draft of the designer brew.

And then suddenly, the people come and I miss the party. Again. Damn! Where do parties go when you are the host? How can several hours spin away that quickly?

There is a swirl of activity and I bounce from person to person like a pool ball, ricocheting from one corner to another, hitting this group, breaking up that group, clack clack clack. And then it's over and I wonder where the party went.

I grab at inanimate details. The chip bowl needs refilling and plates need to be cleared away. I took the Star Trek Cookbook down off the shelf to show it off, and now it's leaning drunkenly against the wall. The entire shelving unit itself has the potential of crashing down one of these days if I don't secure it with some kind of molly bolts.

The precious head on top should be secured with museum putty.

I never did get a chance to talk to Old So-and So.

The dreaded eggs were eaten and I had a lot of leftover potato salad. Why? I'll never know. Too bland? Too spicy? Too filling? It's as big a mystery as the missing party.