Given the state of my eyelids right now I better write a post and get it out of the way. Probably be asleep if I tried to write when I get home from work.
Two hours sleep last night. Drunk texted my friend for an hour. Got home at five and acted like a normal person.
Did NOT black out!
What control! What self mastery!
Going to work, I hit the streets listening to The Hollies’ only famous song. Blasting in my tinny iPhone headphones with the jack that goes into the charger thing.
Was an out of body experience as the sunlight hit just right and I still had a nice amount of liquor in the blood.
Now comes the crash.
Damn I am tired and I have some bad gas going on. This shit is annoying as hell. People are like, aren’t you hungry? I’m like, no! I ain’t hungry, my stomach feels distended and shit. Got some weird acid reflux, too. And god damn cats walking around the apartment crying and shit. Fucking driving me insane. Fed this motherfucker like three times in the last hour.
Decided not to get drunk any more. That sucks. Going to be like Neitzche out here and drink milk and shit. Not even going to get drunk. Damn, what will the world be like. So far I managed not to get drunk for two days straight, but one on of them I was violently hung over.
Blogging is discouraging for me. Pretty much everything is I guess. Or at least disappointing.
Last night I went to a concert where different people got on stage and sang Nirvana songs. It was like they didn’t even like Nirvana, half of them. They didn’t even know the lyrics. It was pretty awful at first. And I had brought my wife along. We were out on a Saturday night together with a friend of mine. This hasn’t happened in years. I couldn’t believe it was happening, and then I couldn’t believe how bad it was. I told my wife to drink up, but she didn’t. I did, and I blacked out around three AM after another friend showed up with shots.
I woke up in the morning all disoriented and my wife told me that I was “fine with everyone else but mean to her”, which is apparently what I “always do”. Then I felt and now I feel horrible about the whole thing.
I know I wasn’t being mean to her before I blacked out, so whatever happened if it happened happened in the car home or at home.
I fell back asleep and woke up around the time I was supposed to be at work and she had done all the chores and made me coffee and put food in the fridge for the cats.
Then I felt even worse about it.
I guess we should just break up. I don’t know. I can’t handle this guilt. Always with the guilt guilt guilt Jesus Christ am I that bad?
I texted her to see what happened but she won’t tell me, which is perfect because that makes me feel even more guilty.
I almost suspect that’s her plan. Because I’m supposed to go out tonight, which I rarely do, and I was planning to get wild, but now I’ll probably try to keep it together and come home at a reasonable hour.
Oh well I don’t know. That’s what I get for trying to include her. I guess. I am immobilized by guilt and nausea.
Last night in bed, I tried to find some posts on my blog that would give me an idea how I handled this situation in the past. Turns out I stopped blogging right after I asked my wife to marry me, and didn’t start again for more than a year. And that sucks because that was exactly the time period where everything went dark.
On the plus side, as I read through my archives I thought to myself: some of this shit is good. And some of that shit has no likes, so you probably don’t even know about it. Or maybe you do and you don’t like it.
After I posted that shit yesterday I went and wrote some even more whiny ass shit in my brown leather book. Then I wrote in huge scribbles “Shut the fuck up!” A bunch of different ways and then I just stared at it for a while. Then I poured myself a big drink, which I’m usually afraid to do around my wife. And I drank that shit and sliced up some mushrooms and I felt fine.
Later I read some blog posts about people being in love and drank some more and then I said fuck it. It’s like I’m always looking for someone else to define me. I remember times thinking I should break up with my wife because I want to do my own shit, back before we were married. And I would usually remember that five seconds after we broke up I’d find some other girl to tell me what to do. I don’t even know if I really like doing drugs. I probably just can’t stand to be in control of myself or something.
Shit it’s fucking crazy to think about. I don’t even know what I want to do.
Also, shit man, I should probably try to write second drafts and stop being fucking lazy. I’m not the second coming of Jack Kerouac after all.
This morning we ate at Russ and Daughters and I ordered a greyhound, just to keep myself in check.
Last night there were just two of us on the bar and there were a thousand thirsty bastards. When it was all over we went out for a drink and a burger. I have rarely had a better time with someone that I thought I wouldn’t have a good time with. Some people really love cocktails, and not just drinking them, like me.
Then I came home and ate and wrote some dumb shit and took a shower and went to bed and had crazy ass dreams. A lot of them. I kept waking up and going back to sleep. Now it’s about one o’clock and I’m eating a bunch of rice and Filipino style “beef steak,” so says the label. GF’s mom made it.
I dreamed the my parents came to the house, they don’t know we’re living together, just out of the blue, as a surprise. And in the dream I thought to myself, ok, shit this is a total dream. It has to be. And it was just my dad and my sister out there. And then I realized it wasn’t a dream at all. And I knew all was fucked. And it took forever for me to finally wake up and realize it was a dream. And then I was like damn I knew it! Phew!
And then we were playing some kind of game where the prizes were magnums of champagne, and it was a drinking game on a huge bus that was driving somewhere, I don’t know where. And I was handing the prizes out but also playing, and then this slick mother fucker got on and started asking if people were making all the profit they wanted to. And he told me just get him something to drink.
Then I was dreaming that I had to take GF’s sister to my grandmother’s because she was living on her on nearby to them but she didn’t know how to take care of herself or eat, and then we spent the night there but I was worried I had left something on at home.
Anyway none of the dreams were very good. That is all.
It’s crazy but I haven’t felt like writing. I’m on a bad mixture and I’m not getting wasted. Homemade margaritas, apple pie, ice cream and milk. Ah shit my stomach hurts. What a world what a world what a world. Just got to keep moving. Supposed to go to Europe next year for three months. Don’t know how I’m going to pay for that and law school, too, and it’s kind of a shame in a way since if I do manage to save up 15 grand by then it’ll all be depleted in one shot and I’ll be right back to where I started. But even Adam Smith said savings are useless. What’s money for if you don’t spend it. It’s just a number. We’re all built to consume. Or anyway it’s just a number. I have a strong attachment to money. I don’t like budgeting and I don’t even really like spending. In a weird way I do like looking at what I owe and what bills I can pay. I mean I hate it, but I must like it in a way because I spend a lot of time doing that or thinking about it.
Anyway my stomach hurts too much to write. Thought I felt like writing.
Well shit here we are again drinking the blood of the earth and wondering whether or not the entire fourth division of the Santa Barbara Mockingbird Saints will come calling. Perhaps only half of them and that will be bad enough.
I’ve had too much to drink. I went out and tried to be something like a barfly. I tried to do the things that others do, to do things that would be fun, to leave the comfort of my own home and well, it was both good and bad.
GF was supposed to meet me at the bar, but instead she got out of school late so immediately we had to go to the grocery store and you know how that does wonders for my mood. Especially after three beers and a Hemingway daiquiri. And before that two cappuccinos. Looks like another red letter night for dreams.
We’re sitting at the table, she’s reading, and I’m thinking about nothing because my brain is racing like a pro.
Well I just don’t get inspired by alcohol like some people do. And now GF is moving to the couch, so I will have to follow suit, and she will fall asleep soon and I am working back to back doubles starting tomorrow so if I know what’s best for me I’ll go to sleep, just like she will in a matter of minutes, because she can’t be comfortable and read and drink tea without falling asleep.
I thought I had it all figured out, a number of times today, and then I don’t know, I got home and called Citibank.