Won't someone, oh won't someone, just once, just this once, pretty please, holla atcha boy. I'm sitting here in my dark room, drinking (you guessed it) whiskey, wishing someone would holler at me.
Someone?
Anyone?
I'm talkin' 'bout some mutha fuckin' commiseration and shit. Can I get a witness?
Why can't I just be a normal human, with normal human flaws and normal human desire. I'm not fit for this world.
Things will happened, as things are wont, as they have in the past. Today, even, things happened. I have a friend who's suicidal. I understand their reason(s) behind no longer wanting to live. My friend has a penchant for instigating and fabricating drama, and it occurs to me that perhaps this is a method of staving off those solitary yearnings. Drama is a way to ignore the nagging poking scratching screeching pangs of a meaningless life; drama involves us in our lives and distracts us from the infinitely sorrow of a solipsistic existence. Today there was drama, a bit, a piece. Last week there was drama, too. I can't help but wonder why all of a sudden I'm experiencing drama, when for a while in my life there was relatively little.
(thank god no one reads this stupid thing, I don't need a goddamn intervention).
Whatevs. Later kids. Someday things will be different.
