20.2.11

It is 7:24 A.M., and I am drunk off my ass.

I'm watching some shitty show about riots or something. They have this panel of three greasy dorks who are all wearing the same type of glasses. They're supposed to debate with eachother, but they all look the same and sound the same, and since it's a Canadian show, they all have the same opinions, so it's more of a governmental lovefest. Whenever one talks, the others stare at him with their mouths open. I can barely watch this trash.

I wish I'd started drinking hours ago. I could gladly spend the rest of my life smashed off of white wine, living in my parent's basement. It's sad, but I'm not going to pretend it's not totally true. I'm most definately addicted to an altered state of mind. I could quit smoking pot any time, but I would have to replace it with booze. I could quit booze, but it would be replaced with something else.

I just get bored. So bored. Sometimes I wonder if this is what depression is. There are times when dying seems more appealing than living, simply because I'm bored and want something new to do. I've always considered depression to involve feeling sad about things, and I rarely feel sad, so I've always assumed I'm not depressed. Lately I've been wondering.

See, I don't feel sad. Ever, really. I don't feel angry. I feel annoyed, bored, and sometimes kind of happy. I don't know what it means.

I don't know much of anything. I'm just drunk. I could go into a rant about how no one would miss me, but I'm not quite THAT drunk yet. I'm only on bottle three.

Besides, that wouldn't be true. Lisa would miss me. She'd live, but it would take a while.

Dad would miss me. Fuck, I'd miss him.

Edward would probably not take that kind of thing well.

As far as anyone else, I don't doubt people would maybe miss me, but I know I've never been really that important to most anyone I haven't dumped and ostrasized already, and I know I don't treat the people mentioned above very well.

Bleh, this is beginning to dig, and I don't like digging.

I wish I was making donuts right now, dancing alone to ridiculous music.

(The following will all be drivel I want to say but can't)


To the one I'm talking to now:

We can't hang out. You know why. If you really don't, let me spell it out.

WE CAN'T HANG OUT, BECAUSE WE WILL UNDOUBTABLY SLEEP TOGETHER.

It won't be in the same innocent way we have in the past. You've been through enough that I wouldn't feel wrong about it anymore, and I don't like that. I'm with the only person I've ever met who will put up with who I am when I'm alone, and I can't screw that up. You understand me mor ethan anyone I've ever met, and you're gorgeous and all that, but it can't happen. Even though I don't have the moral fortitude to resist that shit anymore, I certainly have the sheer will to not lose Lisa, and will cut you out of my life if that's what it takes.

You know I feel bad. You know I blame myself for what's going on with you now. I moved for half a year. The last thing I said to you should never be repeated, but it seems pretty evident that it has at least a lot to do with your insanely fast decline.

bLEH. TIME FOR MORE WINE, MOTHERFUCKER.

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