The Sunday Morning Drunk
I'm in Hell. That's life. Who needs pants? I don't give a crap if it's 20 degrees, shorts will be fine on a 2/3 of a mile walk to the 24 hour convenience store for a 6 pack. Beer needed, pants be damned. Can't find my jacket so two long sleeve thermal shirts and a short sleeve over that's good. 3:45 a.m., barely any cars on the road. No cars for 5 or ten minutes, Evanescence in the ears, but how come when there's cars, two at the same time pass in opposite directions? What are the odds?!? Bizarre. Gloves were need but just pull the hands inside the sleeves and it's allg ood.
Beer bought, walk home. More Evanescence. Though I was walking on a road, that's some great hiking music for a cold morning under the stars. Warm on the the way home, no more freezing hands. Grateful Dead terrapin hemp baseball hat keeps me head warm. Somethin' like 45 minutes later, home I am to drink. Air temp was below freezing so beer was cold right away. Nice. Evanescence finishes so how about some Pearl Jam in the ears? Loud, fast, joyless. There's no joy in hopelessness.
8:12 a.m. now and I'm on my last beer. Thankfully the convenience store closer to me (not 24 hrs) uis now open. NBeed more beer, spelling erros now be damhed. Screw 'em.
INXS - Dekadance. Shoryt EP before I play me some Temple of the Dog.
Tis weally messed up, Elmer Fudd would say with a "w" instead of an "r" -- Sunday morning church? Or beer? Beer and hopelessness. Screw the world, screw everything. Just give me loud, fast, somewhat maybe angry music and endless CSI: Miami's and NCIS episodes. Leverage on TNT and Psych on USa start soon. Family Guy's good for a laugh now and then, Community and 30 Rock and Parks & Recreation also... but what good is a laugh without joy? It's so false? Temporary? All laughs are temporary but I guess it's just momentary, something to fill up a tiny little part of life before death. A mometary distraction from the hell.
Someone commented here recently along the lines of -- "Play some Dead." Yeah, right. I wish I could. I want to. Badly. It's so0 messed up, ya know, the desire is tremendously tjhere for the Gratefil Dead and Jerry HGarcia to provide again some joy in this life . . . but it just ain't a-happenin'. Just ain't. There's nothing in life to be happy about. Happiness makes the GD and JGB awesome, just dopwnright freakin' awesome, ya know, great, splendid, wicked great, bitchgin', gnarly, killer, orgasmic, wonderful, mmmm, so goooooood . . . i know this . . . but I can't press play because there's no joy to be the door to that added Grateness. Do I make sense. Probably not. Do i care? No. Whatever. I just wish I had a home. I'm fucking homeless, I've nowhere that I fit in. Home is where the heart is and where's my heart? Stolen and I hate it. I hate life. I hatre myself. I hate the world. I hate life and I just wish I could slice my wrists open and bleed to death. Yay. Now there'd be some joy. Whatever. Temple of the Dog's playing, last beer's being drunk and tis perhaps time for me to get me another 6 pack. I dunno why. Seriously -- I've been great with maybe a mere one six pack in like the last 3 or 4 weeks, constanly battloing the d4esire to drink, but the alcholic compulsion is there right now. Why? It just is. Nothing else to say. Ramble ramble ramble. Country's going to hell. Whatever. Music plays, nothing gives me joy. Want to die. Whatever. Maybe I'll sober up and find a good video to post after this to deflect. Why',m I even typing all this crap? Beats me. Whatever. Life sucls. Did i mnention that already or not? yeahh ... i thought i did.