Overall I hung out in two bars tonight and refrained from drinking. Being around alcohol and not drinking is kind of like succumbing to the unwritten yet highly anthologized ‘hands off-look-but-don’t-touch’ mandate convivially stipulated in gentleman clubs located in the contiguous United States and in Guam. The desire just to get unabashedly bombed persists. At the height of my drinking (25 plus beers a day) I would (shit you not) walk home from work and comb outside the Owl's Nest to see if I could find any half-finished beers leftover from when patrons popped out to smoke the night before, combing the alleyway in search of a fix simply because I couldn’t wait the petty one hour from when I oet off from work to when the liquor store opens.
It’s getting better. It’s been fifteen days. But I still feel bored. I don’t feel relaxed and the bulk of the time I don’t feel creative.
..and that's why I'm doing this fast. To be the protagonist of my own narrative, to find 'the lucky charm' hanging around my neck that has always been there and that I have somehow forgotten about by supplanting it with copious amounts of booze, to conquer the darkness and quash my demons with a stipple of dawn, to crack open everything that is inside the keg of my chest and them quite simply, to pour.
We then began to get uncomfortable with all the freakish psychics and tried to find a way out. Your sister followed behind us (phucking Fred, always trying to be a third wheel). In typical Diggory and Polly fashion we unearthed a “hidden passage trap door” in the bottom of the basement” with a spiral sylvan staircase stowed inside only we opted not to go in. Instead we continued to walk around the bottom circumference of the basement. We found a black and white poster a house of worship (it was a cross between the first house of worship in Russia and this cool picture I have a home) only the poster was TILTED. I then grabbed your wrist and pulled and fell to the ground under the picture of the TILTED house of WORSHIP . You were on top of my body in dry humping fashion and I started cryin, sobbing irrevocably/uncontrollably pressing my teary sockets into the gentle whiteness of your cheekbones. I then addressed you as “My dearest and eternal A____” and then I started crying more and apologized and asked for forgiveness for yelling and emotionally erupting at you last autumn. Like that blissfull day on the parkbench (or in the hookah lounge. Or in the park here in P-town) we held each other for a long time and it was pure. You then told me that I was forgiven and we started breezing gentle kisses on the others cheekbones and forehead and smiling at each other. The moment you said the word forgive good ol’ anisa FRED jumped on to of us (think of a sports victory celebration) and we kissed her forehead (frontal lobe) as well. We then got up and decided to leave (we were all smiling—miss that smile of yers angelface) and as we left a weird gray-eyes guard psychic told us to hurry up cause the conference would be starting soon. I don’t think we were in a hurry to get back.