August 14, 2013|
I was hurting so I took a vicodin this morning. Everything felt fine after that. I sifted through my belongings to find things to give away to Salvation Army. Got rid of a few things, but still have this Rock Band drum set I never used, I never will use, but have nonetheless. I was thinking I could sell it even though I'm not even sure it works, and it's missing at least one part. But then I thought maybe it's not worth keeping it around for the possibility of a sale, when its existence in my bedroom disturbs me. Another thing I can't just give away I might be able to sell for over $100. I would have preferred that these things be worthless. I don't want them. They decrease my quality of life.
I have become fond of a large Starbucks coffee cup for drinking water from.
On Monday I went to my car for shot after shot after shot. It didn't seem to matter. I think I must have blacked out at some points because, even though I feel like I remember things, the club was very generic. Like, here's a group, here's a song, here's a bunch of songs, here's some people. I recall the event, but I don't recall having feelings about things. I do remember sitting next to the Burlesque dancer and probably overstepping my boundaries. I went in to snuggle her arm (she's very snuggly) and she sort of recoiled, and I told her I wasn't trying to fingerblast her. And I told her that I'm drunk so she has to excuse me, and that I was drunk that time in Union Square, that I am always drunk. I stroked her arm and hand, and ran my hand up her back and rubbed her spine. And then I saw she was with someone, a boyfriend apparently. I'm glad he's not the fighting type.
So that was a nice moment for me, perhaps not for him, and I think it was nice for her. Because when she left, she came to me to say goodbye. She introduced me to her man, and I made an effort to be more polite than usual, not to undo anything, but just to be a nicer person. He was perhaps not the ideal person to try that on because it probably just seemed like I was clowning on him when I shook his hand firmly, looked him in the eyes, smiled, and said it was nice to meet him.
The burlesque girl hugged me, and maybe it was just to make him jealous, but I will choose to believe it was a moment, and she hugged me for a very long time, and I told her she smelled nice, and I figured that might be creepy, so I gave her a chance to let go, but she just kept holding on, and it was a very tender moment from someone I guess I've been seeing around for a few years, had went on a date (maybe) once with, and generally had a superficial sometimes almost hostile relationship with. But it had been a long time since I last saw her. And I guess things hadn't been great for her. And so it was this nice kind of acknowledgement of each other's presence in our lives. We danced together somewhere in the middle of all that. I remember being too shy to dance with her before.
When I got home I felt so queasy, and I was messaging an Australian girl, telling her to kill me. And then I drank some orange juice, since orange juice normally fixes everything, and then my face heated up, I felt swollen, and I threw up for the first time since I was a child.
I felt a little ashamed for doing that to myself.
I have been sharing sordid and private details of my life with this Australian and vice versa.
I have been trading long emails with a French girl, but her last email was so delayed, and so fantastically long, and she's so beautiful, that I don't even know how to write back.
I have begun seeing a new therapist.
Tomorrow I will see him again. And then maybe I will go to Belmont to play a video game on my friend's 55" television instead of my behemoth of a CRT. I have become less and less tolerant of the picture quality of my television, to the point that I almost don't like playing games anymore. My laptop has a better screen and runs them with higher settings, but sitting upright at a desk isn't always what I want to be doing.
My mother keeps talking to me, and I keep ignoring her, and I don't realize I'm ignoring her until I am walking away. And then I hate myself a little bit.
I walked her fat mastiff pit dog tonight. I did not walk the pit pupp. I had some liquor beforehand which made walking more enjoyable. The scene was cinematic. Fogs and lights. And it smelled of planes somewhere distinct, and I yearned for escape.
Earlier I took a walk. After dropping my useless space takers at Salvation Army. The walk felt worthless, but I know I felt a little better than before.
I couldn't run because Monday night's vodka destroyed me.
I want something more. I want to stop stalking the last girl I dated. I want to sit at a computer and not feel completely empty.