||[Feb. 8th, 2010|08:25 am]
Swallows morning meds with black carbonated bullshit===|
I swear diet pepsi probably killed the dinosaurs.
I feel like a million bucks, if every benjamin had been used to clean up the seminal fluids from some tearful hookup in a red neon stained motel room with color teevee (never liked that expression). I feel like a million bucks, stained with baking soda and nosebleeds, waiting to be killed for. I feel like fighting with her about nothing just to remind myself I am separate.
I used to get down on myself for all this otherness, I used to think I might as well be sleeping if I lived like I dreamed in a great cloud of aloneness, anomie. But then I couldn't fuck with you right?
Ive got the itch to run again. I've got itches in general. I've got a bad side of the bed and egotistical erotomania. I've got unfinished arguments and forgotten paperwork soaked in gin in a forgotten corner of the room.
Today is not a day for accomplishments. It is not a day for self destruction. It is a day for loose ends at ends, girlfriends and amends.
And with that the medication starts to work.
Ah shit, what the fuck am I going on about.