20.Oct.2001
I'm gonna stop myself
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the night dissolves
By some miracle of God, I managed to crawl out of bed at a decent hour. When I say crawl, I mean crawl. The rest of the day will be defined on whether or not my stomach stops loathing me.
I looped The Bends this morning as I was falling asleep, and kept waking up on "My Iron Lung", only to fall back into some semblance of unconsciousness. The room kept spinning and I kept trying to concentrate on being still. Thom Yorke wailed over this concentration and I was too paralyzed to shut him off.
"TAKE IT, BITCH!"
The hightlight of today so far was how orgasmically refreshing my first bottle of water felt.
I am picking dried mascara out of my eye-lashes and contemplating sitting in the tub for a few days.
I am taking on the world's hang over.
You are welcome.
4:03PM
I have recently come into the habit of saving my chat scripts with others while I'm drunk, so that I can survey the damage of what I said or didn't say when the time comes. None of it is shocking, most of it is tender, I seem to become soft on booze. I probably just get so fucked up that speaking becomes an arduous task and thus I lose my shit in the process and start expelling different sounds of disgust.
I want a frothy mug of coke. There is no drug reference there.
I actually just want to ramble incoherently for a few more hours and then sit in the tub.
What scares me is the fact people are reading this and possibly thinking to themselves, "Get over it, you fuckhead." or "I know how she feels." or "I love you." or "Please contact me before I kill myself."
I hate putting that much stock into someone else, but, I'm probably in love with the notion.
I also know rambly diary entries cause the casual on-looker to groan inwardly while frantically clicking a link to take them out of the site with force. That is fine by me. There's a myriad of fantastic other diaries lurking in my drop-down desire boxes, assuming you know how to use a drop-down menu.
I was repeating "Karma Police" last night while drinking with The Consummate Drinking and Fucking Buddy(tm), and we both began arguing who could play the song better.
I may back down on some issues concerning The Consummate Drinking and Fucking Buddy, but this isn't one of them. I don't think I can get my shit together long enough to sit in the tub.
I am a total mess of booze-infused skin-wires drying themselves out on Metroid theme music and New Order remixes done by the ever-fabulous Jasonbeast, and I taste beer in the back of my mouth, and my head falls back, and I wish I could play the guitar, I am seriously lacking that fucking mug of frothy cola.
I somehow feel guilty for spending the afternoon researching someone who has stated numerously they loathe being researched, something about their privacy being invaded, something about paranoia, something else but I was transfixed on their face instead of their words. I can't help but want to lick their navel and break them over my knee and break down their existence into chewable tablets.
All the while Bjork wails on: "I love him I love him I love him I love him".
Kill me.
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time & machine