(no subject)
At twenty-four years old, I find it refreshing to have at least one constant in a life full of so many changes: the presence of alcohol and my ceaseless passion for it.
The men come and go so quickly, clothes only fit for so long, one shower is good for only five days, your fast food job stopped being satisfying before you fi nished filling out the application, your cats die or even worse, you become allergic to them. You keep the cats anyway, but it always reminds you that you're the type of person to force things to be a certain way when nature dictates otherwise. You keep yourself constantly aware of what a fool you are.
And that just paves the way for alcohol to make its heroic entrance, to see the damsel in distress and just knock her right off her feet, flat on the floor where she belongs until tomorrow evening.
No man has ever created the same effect for me.
Oh but the role of a man in my life is such a complicated issue. There's such a mess in that area of my brain that it has recently become much like my bedroom. A huge mess that I navigate through to the bed where I can just go to sleep and ignore that there's a disaster zone all around me.
Fuck if every time I look down my shot glass is empty when I swear I poured a fresh one just a second ago.
As we speak, I am digging my own grave. No, that's the wrong metaphor because in almost any negative situation, I would prefer to be digging my own grave, lowering my own casket, embalming my own flesh. Yet here I stand tall, prolonging my misery in the name of idiocy, for the sake of foolishness. Because what else does someone like me do with her time here on Planet Earth? Long ago I marked myself a nonbeliever in making my mark on the world, considering my sole responsibility to make it through life without tragically harming another human being...as for my own well being, surviving suffices.
See where my low standards have gotten me? A burning pit of fire.
I feel like I've died and gone to hell.
When all I really wanted to do was die. And nothing else.
I'm going to be pissed if I die and something happens to me after that. I'm truly hoping my death is truly the end. In the event that it is not, I will find a way to contact the living and wreak havoc. I don't know how, but I thought through the phrase "wreak havoc" I encompassed almost anything a corpse or spirit could do.
The men come and go so quickly, clothes only fit for so long, one shower is good for only five days, your fast food job stopped being satisfying before you fi nished filling out the application, your cats die or even worse, you become allergic to them. You keep the cats anyway, but it always reminds you that you're the type of person to force things to be a certain way when nature dictates otherwise. You keep yourself constantly aware of what a fool you are.
And that just paves the way for alcohol to make its heroic entrance, to see the damsel in distress and just knock her right off her feet, flat on the floor where she belongs until tomorrow evening.
No man has ever created the same effect for me.
Oh but the role of a man in my life is such a complicated issue. There's such a mess in that area of my brain that it has recently become much like my bedroom. A huge mess that I navigate through to the bed where I can just go to sleep and ignore that there's a disaster zone all around me.
Fuck if every time I look down my shot glass is empty when I swear I poured a fresh one just a second ago.
As we speak, I am digging my own grave. No, that's the wrong metaphor because in almost any negative situation, I would prefer to be digging my own grave, lowering my own casket, embalming my own flesh. Yet here I stand tall, prolonging my misery in the name of idiocy, for the sake of foolishness. Because what else does someone like me do with her time here on Planet Earth? Long ago I marked myself a nonbeliever in making my mark on the world, considering my sole responsibility to make it through life without tragically harming another human being...as for my own well being, surviving suffices.
See where my low standards have gotten me? A burning pit of fire.
I feel like I've died and gone to hell.
When all I really wanted to do was die. And nothing else.
I'm going to be pissed if I die and something happens to me after that. I'm truly hoping my death is truly the end. In the event that it is not, I will find a way to contact the living and wreak havoc. I don't know how, but I thought through the phrase "wreak havoc" I encompassed almost anything a corpse or spirit could do.