LOVE PAIN FATE
My eyes and mind cloud over as the remnants of the alcohol takes over, leaving me the ickiness of the "icky-shuffle" of my brain. It happens time and time again, more frequent now with my tired eyes and tired body.
Old. My body can't take this shit anymore. Old. I'm getting too old for this shit. I'm getting too old for these late night excursions and drinking drinks of multiple ounces. Just too old for this shit.
I guess it wasn't the drinks that actually put me over, but more of the combination of many factors that put me over the edge. Just horrible.
Yesterday was a mess day of sickness and queasiness. Just a blah day of the worst kind. Just a blah day of the worst kind.
It's been a while since I've felt that way. The movie didn't help, nor did the lack of sleep.
It's just funny how things are. It has to be an age thing or something, because when I was young and the insomniac that I was, I had no problems at all with the 4-5 hours of sleep that I got. Sometimes it was much less. Now, anything less than 5 or 6, I get a grumpy mess of zombie flesh.
My mind just doesn't work. There's no focus, there's no relevant or significant thoughts. All there is is the constant reminder of why I should not be drinking, why I should not be staying up so late, and why I am just old. There is only pain. PAIN.
Just a walking zombie of messed up emotions of pain and pain. There is nothing more as I try to put on my best face and hide my queasiness as I show up at the family dinner. I couldn’t do anything but just sit there and eat and just be quiet in my own little hermit way of antisocialness.
I smile my polite smile when I need to. Ask my polite questions when I need to. Swear off the alcohol when I need to.
I sit there in misery as the young'ins laugh at my pain and my misery. It is LOVE when you know that family can laugh at you and you don't get pissed. It is love when your family can laugh at you and your pain and your misery.
Because it is only a small insignificant pain. It isn't anything drastic, life threatening or life changing. It was just a bad hangover. A tired mess of BLAH!
I felt like shit. Words of concern as my uncles and aunts ask about my well being; of why I am not as fun as I use to be. Concerns of why I'm not drinking. Am I quitting? Just a simple "I'm tired" and "I had too much to drink last night" was all I can manage.
It is true.
Actually, I didn't have that much. Not that much at all. It was a decent night that led to a horrible morning. A disgusting morning of ugh.
Sigh.
Home is what I yearned for. My loving bed that never betrayed me before. My favorite thing in the world when I feel that way. I want to make love to it just by being there, wrapped up in my blankie and just die. And I did.
* * *
It's raining. It's been raining for the past week, week and a half. Some of the days were bad, horrible. Just a torrential downpour of precipitation. It even woke me from a deep slumber.
It's refreshing to see the rain, overcast skies, and just downright feeling of home.
I miss the rain. The lovely sweet softness of falling rain on my head. Tiny rainy drops that caresses you in the tantalizing shower.
I just can't believe why anyone would not like the rain. It cleanses the soul. It cleanses everything that it touches, making it new and refreshed.
It just changes the landscape and the people a little bit. None of this rushed impatience that I'm so use to down here. Everything is at a crawl with the eerie emptiness because not that many people like to go out in the rain.
Just a refreshing mess of love that I enjoy when it appears here in the land of the SoCal sun. It's a change of pace, a pace that reminds me of home. A slowed pace of relaxed laid-backness of just so whatever.
It's rain. RAIN. I love the rain.
Jumping up and down in a puddle as the rain just pounds and pounds and pounds you from atop the sky.
Old. My body can't take this shit anymore. Old. I'm getting too old for this shit. I'm getting too old for these late night excursions and drinking drinks of multiple ounces. Just too old for this shit.
I guess it wasn't the drinks that actually put me over, but more of the combination of many factors that put me over the edge. Just horrible.
Yesterday was a mess day of sickness and queasiness. Just a blah day of the worst kind. Just a blah day of the worst kind.
It's been a while since I've felt that way. The movie didn't help, nor did the lack of sleep.
It's just funny how things are. It has to be an age thing or something, because when I was young and the insomniac that I was, I had no problems at all with the 4-5 hours of sleep that I got. Sometimes it was much less. Now, anything less than 5 or 6, I get a grumpy mess of zombie flesh.
My mind just doesn't work. There's no focus, there's no relevant or significant thoughts. All there is is the constant reminder of why I should not be drinking, why I should not be staying up so late, and why I am just old. There is only pain. PAIN.
Just a walking zombie of messed up emotions of pain and pain. There is nothing more as I try to put on my best face and hide my queasiness as I show up at the family dinner. I couldn’t do anything but just sit there and eat and just be quiet in my own little hermit way of antisocialness.
I smile my polite smile when I need to. Ask my polite questions when I need to. Swear off the alcohol when I need to.
I sit there in misery as the young'ins laugh at my pain and my misery. It is LOVE when you know that family can laugh at you and you don't get pissed. It is love when your family can laugh at you and your pain and your misery.
Because it is only a small insignificant pain. It isn't anything drastic, life threatening or life changing. It was just a bad hangover. A tired mess of BLAH!
I felt like shit. Words of concern as my uncles and aunts ask about my well being; of why I am not as fun as I use to be. Concerns of why I'm not drinking. Am I quitting? Just a simple "I'm tired" and "I had too much to drink last night" was all I can manage.
It is true.
Actually, I didn't have that much. Not that much at all. It was a decent night that led to a horrible morning. A disgusting morning of ugh.
Sigh.
Home is what I yearned for. My loving bed that never betrayed me before. My favorite thing in the world when I feel that way. I want to make love to it just by being there, wrapped up in my blankie and just die. And I did.
* * *
It's raining. It's been raining for the past week, week and a half. Some of the days were bad, horrible. Just a torrential downpour of precipitation. It even woke me from a deep slumber.
It's refreshing to see the rain, overcast skies, and just downright feeling of home.
I miss the rain. The lovely sweet softness of falling rain on my head. Tiny rainy drops that caresses you in the tantalizing shower.
I just can't believe why anyone would not like the rain. It cleanses the soul. It cleanses everything that it touches, making it new and refreshed.
It just changes the landscape and the people a little bit. None of this rushed impatience that I'm so use to down here. Everything is at a crawl with the eerie emptiness because not that many people like to go out in the rain.
Just a refreshing mess of love that I enjoy when it appears here in the land of the SoCal sun. It's a change of pace, a pace that reminds me of home. A slowed pace of relaxed laid-backness of just so whatever.
It's rain. RAIN. I love the rain.
Jumping up and down in a puddle as the rain just pounds and pounds and pounds you from atop the sky.