-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
you take the cat and I'll sue you for abuse
Just am not seeing the point to anything anymore.
Malaise. Giving up. Might as well eat a fucking hamburger. I don't even remember what cow tastes like. Salt? Blood? That's about all I remember. Chewing on muscles is weird. I remember a springy consistency and weird bits that never dissolve. I don't actually have any desire to consume that toxic shit, but it's just a symbol of total loss of hope.
I can't be more important than someone else's addiction. What's the point in trying to take care of myself, someone else? We are all fucked. I take everything too seriously, I'm told. Just learn not to care. So just give up on sobriety as well. Either way I lose. I have to be like everyone and learn not to care about fucking anything. Make arbitrary new rules like...don't drink an entire bottle in one night. Don't realize you are signing your death warrant. Cheers.
Be happy, you get to die together. Giant teddy bear carnival circus prize of the soul.
Live somewhere you hate, you have to make it through somehow. I honestly don't know if I can live here and be sober. Or, I can be sober and totally alone. Eanie Meanie Miney Moe. Catch a Tiger by its toe. Get torn to shreds and die in pain. It's a lot easier to exist in this hick town when I am only partially aware. I can ignore a lot when I am too fucked up to even see what's right in front of me. People we've known for 15+ years are still here and still homeless. I wonder to myself, if he has nothing, why doesn't just keep walking until he finds someplace better? He's hoping to be inside by winter. Feeling like an asshole because I don't open up my 16 room house to someone to keep them from freezing to death because I know it's really opening myself up to getting robbed and fucked over. No good deed goes unpunished. Why should I care about my stuff? Why should I care if shitforbrains with the argyle sock tattoos dies Shining style in the snow? Maybe I don't.
And just when I think this depression will never leave, up pops the mania with the usual accompanying inappropriate spending sprees and sexual acts. Poster prints of lava flows and even more pretty flowery dresses that will just get stretched out then balled up on the floor. This new moon is supposed to be about following your dreams, huh guru astrology lady? My dreams invariably involve the luxury of an extra tongue, masses of semen over my tits, and lots of animal grunting. It's what helps me get to sleep at night. So, what's the best way to make that a reality? How to get the stars to align toward that perfect orgasm?
No, not well. Not safe or sane or happy or sad. The answer is D, all of the above. All at once. Or back and forth so fast my head spins. Motion sickness from trying to keep up from the emotions. My ears pop and my throat is sore. My eyes twitch and my skin itches and it's never getting any better.
In this altered state, I could watch the same movie hundreds of times, hear the same side of an LP on loop, drink a dozen bottles of whisky, fuck one after another in the dark woods, eat cookies until I puke, take a five minute break, and then be up for more.
Anything but this. Anywhere but here. I could use some fucking peace, but I don't think that's possible anymore.
9:03 PM - Sunday, Sept. 09, 2018
-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------