"Friday has left me...

fumblin' with the blues... Two dead ends and you still have to choose."

So, I know not what to think of my current set of circumstances. This blog, I know, was intended to be reserved for my more inebriated moments. I apologize; the past few entries have been far too sober. Well, if I may, please allow me to dispel your disappointment, put your worries to bed; I am drunk. I hope your worries sleep tight.

This night, before the inebriation occurred, I ran into some old friends, some really old friends, people I used to love, people I still love, somehow, people who used to love me. Used to. Long ago. They made it seem as though they would be interested in, ya know, like, um, ya know, maybe hangin' out some time.

Not only can I not forgive myself for what I did to them; but I could never even so much as imply that I would want them to forgive me for what I did. It just wouldn't be right, forgiveness. I do love them, though. I think the reason why I can't be their friend is that I don't love myself.

Boo-fucking-hoo.

Though it's true.

Gosh darned super-ego.

For the record, McCormick's whiskey doesn't mix well with absolutely anything. A hard lesson I've learned again and again.

I do, somewhere buried beneath the alcoholism and self-deprication, have love in my heart for those by whom I'm surrounded. Thanks to all of those who love me.

I'm finally drunk; this isn't an experience I've had since at least last friday. Unfortunately the drinking business doesn't pay very well.

There's a certain something about someone who can relate to Tom Waits. It may be just the alcohol about them, but there's something nonetheless. There's a little Tom Waits in everyone; it's called the Id.

Sorry for all of the freudian allusions.

So I know that I no longer have the potential to become what I once could have been. Woopsie-daisy. I can still become whatever it is I can still be, right? I know I'll squander that bit of potential too. Down the drain, or the hatch, as this whiskey may be.

Cheers.

Have you ever been so taken advantage of, everbeen so taken, ever been so desroyed that you don't know from where to take solice? You have no; you are left with no hope.

At least I'll always have the music. This is the same music I've been listening to for some time; this is the music that has always told me to drink. No, wait, that was the sobriety. Damned sobriety, however muc it hurts, it always knows what's best.

Fuck off,
Willie