Ask me why I play myself, play myself for a fool.

Wow.
I am like fall over, can't type hammered.

I think it was a good night. I hung out with some cool people. I hung out with some shitty people.

Wow, yeah.

Despite tonight's bullshit, I think I feel pretty good about life.

I did a good thing tonight. It made someone who is very good to me very happy.

Or, at least, I think it did.

I also made a huige ass of myself. I know this was appreciated by certain people. Maybe some more than others.

I like the boys. In general, they are nice, good people who mean really well . In practice, I Have nothing in common with them, and really have trouble relating to them on in any way that seems important.

I don't like this. It all seems so clear right now.

What is wrong with me? Why am I even thinking about any of this.

I mean, I'm not stupid. I can see things for what they are. I KNOW what they are, and do not even try to delude myself.

Life is what it is, and that is what it has always been and always will be.

Fuck, I am in a cruel mood. I know it does not really show.

I am sick of looking after everyone. I am sick of being there to clean up and fix things and make everyone have happy endings. I don't even fucking like people, so why am I always so fucking worried and codependant? Why is it the minute I feel that I don't really have to be, and that everyone can just co-exist and have a good time, everything gets all fucked up?

I don't understand jack shit about things like this.

My best friend in the world right now is a fucking cat, who realizes how shitty I feel and who is nice and close and just fucking there and unconditional and not worried about anything. I don't even like fucking cats. They shit and shed and make a racket and are generally pains in the ass.

You know how I spent my fucking night?

i'll tell you.

I was woken up from a nice fucking sleep with my loving girlfriend on my comfortable couch while watching a show I like after smoking a nice, relaxing bowl.

"Hey dude, let's go pull this fucking douche out of the ditch. We're bringing some other person you really can't stand to be around. You can give me gas money and buy booze and it will be fun."

Well, ok. I am feeling off and shitty and could use a ride to the liquor atore. Yes, this douche is douchy, and I can't stand that other dude, and really, I had kind of a lousy day and would just like to sit with you, my friend, and play video games and not have to do what I know is inevitable.

But you know what? I'm fucking annoyed. I don't want to type all this shit out, because at the end of the day, this writing shit is really more for my benefit than yours, dear reader, and I have done this bullshit enough to know it by heart.

So let's just go to a little while ago. you promised some cokehaed motherfucker that they could come back and party with their douchbag brother, whom I was forced to awake from my nice comfy nap to go yank out of a ditch cause he's a shit driver. They, of course, had to show up with nine other fucking douche cokeheads.

Let's skip farther, because fuck this.

So, two lines and 80 ounces of booze later, here I fucking am. I spent all night looking after your fucking friends. I get to come home to a girl who thinks I'm fucking cheating on her because I can't come back until three or four in the morning because I was busy looking after your ongoing shitshow.

this is my fucking life. Sometimes, I am Ricky. But mostly, I am fucking Julian. For those who don't get what I'm saying here, I am the fucking mom. Everything I do is mpotivated by some outside bullshit source. I'm sick of it.

So while I was planning and hoping to just be a bit drunk and happy and sitting at home thinking sleepy, happy thoughts, instead, I am sitting here annoyed, feeling like shit from the inhuman amount of had liquor I've poured into my body, and wishing that I'd just walked to the liquor store and gotten drunk with the one someone I always feel I can actually relate to - myself.

it's not nearly as fucking depressing as it sounds. After I finished fixing the crackshack, bandaging my fucking knuckles, and clearing the riffraff out of my "best friend's" little shithole before they burned the house down, I got to sit and relax and watch trailer park boys and giggle to some immature shit and just be alone and by myself and enjoy being hammered.

And that was fucking GREAT. I felt like I was being rewarded for making myself act all sober and responsible and looking after a bunch of shit I don't really care about all night. And even that wasn't bad - I think I made a new friend with which I might actually have some profound conversations with sometime in the future. Provided, that is, that I didn't scare him right the fuck off by bombarding him with my best saleman tirade about how coke is bad, despite the fact I'd helped him "dispose of it earlier".

I fucking hate coke. I hate the down. I hate the up. But it will tire you the fuck out. There's something I bet you did not know about me - I used to really, really do DRUGS. Not like, nice drugs like pot of booze, where it's not really that big of deal. I am being completely honest when I say that type of shit is a complete last resort and I have massive regrets about doing it tonight. I have not done that in a long time.

I just knew that the minute shit started getting out of control that I'd either have to relate to these people or just fucking leave. I couldn't leave, because I just can't take another fucking night sitting here doing nothing but talking to myself and writing shit and hanging out wit the cats, and I just can't, can't relate to people.

I think this is pretty fucking evident if you look back through some of these posts. I think...

Well shit. I think I got distracted here. Sometimes you get a curveball.

I think it's just really time to realize that none of this shit really matters, and that it does not need tobe part of my life.

there is more to write, but there's also a worthy distraction. So, this time, I think it will go to the distraction.

No. No no no no no.

You are not seriously going to let yourself have this whiney, emo scenester bullshit conversation with HER, are you? DUDE. LIKE. You would throw rocks at her, what the fuck?

Dude, fuck off. yes, this night has been ridonkulous. Yes, you feel like this and that and all the other.

Yes, you've got that burning, desperate need for SOMETHING, ANYTHING, that fucking MEANS SOMETHING and feels real and solid and can be counted on. I get that. But you HAVE things that your sober self can count on. You HAVE good friends now, even if they cannot hold their liquor. Please don't fall back into this same old shit.

I think I am more sober now. What am I doing? Why does it matter?

blah.