tex

my grandmother's funeral was this morning. i'd like to thank everyone for your sweet messages regarding her death. she was a truly beautiful woman. i wish words could express and truly replicated her being.

now i'm sitting alone in a hotel room in san antonio, texas. i'm terribly drunk. i've managed to kill a bottle of francis coppola rosso classic (which is a delightful blend of 47% zinfandel, 32% cabernet sauvignon, and 21% syrah. i highly recommend it). my mother bought the bottle yesterday. i wonder what she will think when she wakes in the morning to find that i have drank the whole bottle to myself. my tounge looks black. my teeth are blue and i still want more wine. i'm a lush, what can i say. this room is too empty and lonely. its bigger than my studio. but the bed is incredibly comfortable. i feel if i had the time i would sleep for days in this bed.

i was given a personal urn from the funeral in the shape of a heart. i miss everything. i'm listening owen to help further wallow in my loneliness. for the first time actually wish i was back in santa barbara instead of here. i wish i was in denton, more than either of the two but what good would that do really. all i really want right now is a big hug. i want to be held and have my hair played with.

i feel like my entire structure of friends and family is slowly decaying. i don't think this feeling will ever fade. it is as constant as change.

now i'm listening to cat power. sometimes sadness feels so pure, so beautiful, so right. i don't think this feeling will ever fade.

i need to create to heal. i need to make art and have it be viewed. i'm trying to get my work together for a show next year. i want to be appreciated for creation. i'm tired of being judged for expressing my deepest of emotions. someday someone will see my work and feel from the depths within exactly what i felt making that work.

i need another drink. i need another hug. i need another kiss. i need to sleep but i don't feel like it.
i want to never sleep. i want to never dream. i want to always feel. but i want to be numbed. i want closure with all problems.

this is getting too pathetic.

i love you, baby chickens mcgruder.

EDIT

its morning now and i'm reading over what i have written in a drunken stuper. i'm actually quite surprised to find i can still write eliquently when i'm 5 sheets to the wind.

again, thanks everyone for your warmth. i think i just like writing my thoughts here to see if they are of the norm. i'm waiting from someone one day to read my journal and leave a comment along the lines of.
"dude. you're really fucked up. maybe you should see someone." when this day comes i'm going to laugh my ass off and then immediately write my first novel.

my mother just came in to give me some breakfast from down stairs. shes another sweet woman. she hates the fact that i'm on SG though. i think the strong southern belle mentality has been passed along for centuries. my brother told me after the funeral that if anyone carries her name best after death, it will be in me. i'm glad i have family. but my uncle warren can eat a dick. so can my uncle richard, for calling my mother a cunt the other night when he was wasted (which isn't anything new. he needs alcohol to survive. literally.)
my uncle warren went up to my grandfather at the reception and said, "you know man, now all you need to do is get a new one. i got one (after my great aunt betty died, my grandmother's sister) that cooks and cleans and its real nice." what a fucking asshole.

i've looked out the window a few times now, and i know my day will be a challenge. but as long as i can with stand the hours until i sleep again, to wake to another day to with stand more hours to sleep, to wake, to withstand, to sleep, to wake-- then i will be just fine.

so if you've read this, go out and listen to sad song and dance to it for me.
xoxoxoxoxoxox