Got pretty drunk last night. Not too bad, though…got to see Michelle. I met this blonde girl named Amy, she’s a lawyer. Seems o.k., I guess. I called her earlier and left a message. I don’t care if she doesn’t call back…doesn’t matter to me. Nice to get drunk, though, and not wonder if I fucked something up.
Cold January day. I hate these days and nights alone. I had somebody last winter at least. Want somebody now. Still feel hungover now. Cheney cabbed over here around 4am, coming down from an MDMA trip, I think. I’m looking at her now…dead asleep on my IKEA via Craigslist couch…covered up by two fleece blankets…naked with one bare leg exposed. Friends, though.
I want this winter to end. I want to meet someone. I want so much and I try so fuckin’ hard sometimes. It’s fuckin’ frustrating. Positive sucks! I wish I could start life over sometimes. Go back to being just a kid who loved KISS. Proud of nothing now. Fuck, fuck’s sake. Writing doesn’t really make you feel better – just hopeless.
When the fuck am I ever happy – let alone satisfied? Can’t afford shit. The last time I was happy was when I quit my job. It’s scary that drinking makes me momentarily happy. Knowing I’m going to get FUBAR makes me happy. Then the loneliness of a hangover brings me back to depressed reality. I don’t want to be perfect, just happy for a few days.
Maybe if I went on a 3-day bender I would be happy. Happiness and goodness eludes me. Despair and poverty always finds me, though. Maybe drugs could help.