this was me last night:
so, here's the plan: hopefully by the end of this entry i will be smashed out of my fucking gord. why? i don't know. lack of a good reason, wanting a good reason, thinking i had a good reason and finding out the reason took a fucking vaction. that made no sense, even to me. great way to get started. i have on my desk one rum runner, one plastic cup half filled with margartia mix half filled with tequilla, and a bottle of extra sweet tea. i plan on consuming all of it. and a package of cheep lunch meat, the beef kind. and this may not sound like too much to drink for your average person, but in this low tolerance, anti-depressant, mood stabilizer laced little body it makes the world of difference. my teeth feel fuzzy. straylight run-the tension and the terror, listen to it now, get the feel for it. good song, really tugs at parts of you you didn't even know you still had. tequilla burns, bad and it tastes aweful. i hate it. by comparison rum is tastey. and extra sweet tea is even sweeter. that progression from really bad to really go is what i desire to get rid of in my life. but here i am happily (or am i really happy?) recreating it. and playing the sad shit music, because you can't drink without something to get all weepy over. at the moment its lynard skynard's tuesday's gone. i just dropped my meat on the carpet, but within the confines of the five second rule it can still be eaten. score. and i should feel bad about my inability to control my emotions without the help of substances, but i don't, because i never knew how to control them before the substances came along anyway. bought more eye shadow tonight, and this kick ass black nail polish. that i will wear to cement my status as an emo bitch. type one, two and three. for the tripple word score. fall to pieces every day and no one sees it. and i just keep falling apart til somebody tries to put me back together. and then i crumble still. i wish this blog made a fucks bit of difference, but it doesn't. it chronicals my mishaps, my fuck ups, my emotional pitfalls. yes, watch me trip over myself daily. amuse youself, i amuse me, why shouldn't i amuse anyone else? i am drunk but still able to correct spelling errors, sweet ass. i want an orange cream slush. i fucking love peanut butter cookies!!! they left the best kind of cookies. i'm sure the combination of thing i'm eating is going to kick me in the ass tomorrow. why did i start all this? no, not telling. its pretty mundane anyway, not worth anyones time and thoughts, trust me. god, this shit burns, even when you have the hiccups. body like a battle axe. wish i had a body like that. fuck it. gross. this is all getting pretty hazy. the meat is gone. it was yummy. my head feels heavy. clumsy, and i am so damn clumsy, i should just forget all this bullshit. trying really hard, get lost in the tequilla. this is going to be so fucked up tomorrow and i'm going to feel like shit about it. fuck it. joe says have a cookie. i need more cookies. i'm so tired of all this fake bullshit. it pisses me off, why is it so hard to mean what you say? yank.
so, here's the plan: hopefully by the end of this entry i will be smashed out of my fucking gord. why? i don't know. lack of a good reason, wanting a good reason, thinking i had a good reason and finding out the reason took a fucking vaction. that made no sense, even to me. great way to get started. i have on my desk one rum runner, one plastic cup half filled with margartia mix half filled with tequilla, and a bottle of extra sweet tea. i plan on consuming all of it. and a package of cheep lunch meat, the beef kind. and this may not sound like too much to drink for your average person, but in this low tolerance, anti-depressant, mood stabilizer laced little body it makes the world of difference. my teeth feel fuzzy. straylight run-the tension and the terror, listen to it now, get the feel for it. good song, really tugs at parts of you you didn't even know you still had. tequilla burns, bad and it tastes aweful. i hate it. by comparison rum is tastey. and extra sweet tea is even sweeter. that progression from really bad to really go is what i desire to get rid of in my life. but here i am happily (or am i really happy?) recreating it. and playing the sad shit music, because you can't drink without something to get all weepy over. at the moment its lynard skynard's tuesday's gone. i just dropped my meat on the carpet, but within the confines of the five second rule it can still be eaten. score. and i should feel bad about my inability to control my emotions without the help of substances, but i don't, because i never knew how to control them before the substances came along anyway. bought more eye shadow tonight, and this kick ass black nail polish. that i will wear to cement my status as an emo bitch. type one, two and three. for the tripple word score. fall to pieces every day and no one sees it. and i just keep falling apart til somebody tries to put me back together. and then i crumble still. i wish this blog made a fucks bit of difference, but it doesn't. it chronicals my mishaps, my fuck ups, my emotional pitfalls. yes, watch me trip over myself daily. amuse youself, i amuse me, why shouldn't i amuse anyone else? i am drunk but still able to correct spelling errors, sweet ass. i want an orange cream slush. i fucking love peanut butter cookies!!! they left the best kind of cookies. i'm sure the combination of thing i'm eating is going to kick me in the ass tomorrow. why did i start all this? no, not telling. its pretty mundane anyway, not worth anyones time and thoughts, trust me. god, this shit burns, even when you have the hiccups. body like a battle axe. wish i had a body like that. fuck it. gross. this is all getting pretty hazy. the meat is gone. it was yummy. my head feels heavy. clumsy, and i am so damn clumsy, i should just forget all this bullshit. trying really hard, get lost in the tequilla. this is going to be so fucked up tomorrow and i'm going to feel like shit about it. fuck it. joe says have a cookie. i need more cookies. i'm so tired of all this fake bullshit. it pisses me off, why is it so hard to mean what you say? yank.