Huddling a Bottle of Wild Turkey
As I sit here, at 2AM in the morning, thinking, it will not be a problem to finish the bottle of Wild Turkey, knowing I will, I think back and write of the things that got me to this place.
For once, I can say, I am alone, completely alone. No roommates, no one living below me, above me whatever. I have moved. I am not that far out in the country, but enough that the nights, are DEAD quiet, and there is no light that is not natural, unless I make it.
I have a party planned for the 15th, so I am doing my best to get all the shit that i packed up, unpacked. Oh, but I did it tonight. I opened, "it". The normal cleaning and going through stuff is usually bad enough for me, but, when I open "it" (which I some reason must do every few years, usually when I move) things get interesting. If you have been in my physical existence for any period of time, you might have noticed 2 rubermaid totes that I never touch. They are usually packed away in a far corner or up high. Well, I went through them. Life is really only defined on the footprint, and the people you interact with. Most deeply, are all the relationships and pseudo childhood boy girl things, but yes. I took some away from them, and threw it out, added some. And now I drink.
I fucking need a hug, I just dont get enough real hugs. I wish someone were here I could tell about it at least while I go through. But this is something I always have to do alone. Fuck me and my rituals.
For once, I can say, I am alone, completely alone. No roommates, no one living below me, above me whatever. I have moved. I am not that far out in the country, but enough that the nights, are DEAD quiet, and there is no light that is not natural, unless I make it.
I have a party planned for the 15th, so I am doing my best to get all the shit that i packed up, unpacked. Oh, but I did it tonight. I opened, "it". The normal cleaning and going through stuff is usually bad enough for me, but, when I open "it" (which I some reason must do every few years, usually when I move) things get interesting. If you have been in my physical existence for any period of time, you might have noticed 2 rubermaid totes that I never touch. They are usually packed away in a far corner or up high. Well, I went through them. Life is really only defined on the footprint, and the people you interact with. Most deeply, are all the relationships and pseudo childhood boy girl things, but yes. I took some away from them, and threw it out, added some. And now I drink.
I fucking need a hug, I just dont get enough real hugs. I wish someone were here I could tell about it at least while I go through. But this is something I always have to do alone. Fuck me and my rituals.