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Another wasted rambling... Almost journal, but thoughts would be appreciated.
Hot of the press. Its 4.20am. I'm still wasted. Thoughts from the night and the life surrounding it. If its too journal-esque... Well it is. Excuse any grammatical errors, I'm so far removed from sober right now its beyond funny.
Thoughts, comments, critique appreciated.
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I stumbled into the living room, loudly kicking the shit on the kitchen floor while desperately searching for a beer. My self-contempt about waking Rob and Lisa up quickly disappeared when I found beer in the fridge. I was halfway there. I was so far removed from sober, but far closer to reality than I would have liked. I knew where this was going. Enough to moisturise and buy a bottle of powerade. I knew this was going to hurt. Sleep was nowhere nearby.
I closed the door to my room and sat down at the computer. Trying desperately to find something to placate the growing emptiness, I opened a beer, lit a cigarette and put some music on. Same old story. Nothing I wanted to listen to. For some reason I decided to put on some Midnight Oil. Odd choice. Another beer. And a cigarette. Why not? The beer wasn’t going down well, but I had little choice. I would have ran across the other side of town for some pot. One’s options are limited at three AM.
My stomach was quivering from a lack of food. I hadn’t eaten in a good twelve hours. This wasn’t helping the drinking process. I’d place the bottle to my mouth, take a swig, nearly retch from the taste and vacancy in my stomach, but it went down. I sat there wishing I had a bottle of wine, while another song came on. Three-thirty.
Reminiscing about the night, a few things struck me. The first and foremost – the [lack of response] to the messages I sent. Part of me was wishing that her phone had run out of batteries, or she’d gone to sleep. But the rest knew better. I was driving down the road to fuckupville once again. I put on some Cold Chisel – ‘Flame Trees’. Something about the song made me go to a better place. I let thoughts of high school parties, my old friends and home run through my scattered head. I chuckled to myself about the group of people I’d met… The girl was a sure thing. Cute too. But I couldn’t. Not with her on my mind. Her friend was an even surer thing. Pity he friend was a he. What was it with the gay guys? It massaged the ego but left me feeling dirty. He was so forward. It played uncomfortably on my own sexuality. I was comfortably straight, but incidences like this, in the frame of mind I was in, pulled the wrong strings.
Perfect track. ‘Tuesday’s Gone’ came on. I lit another cigarette from the tip of the one that was just finishing. I was settling down. I let the guitar solo run its course through my mind and swiftly downed the last of another beer. I figured three or four more would probably get me where I wanted to be. I was starting to find my rhythm. The pill I had earlier felt like it was only just starting to kick in. I had a tinge of guilt, knowing my Saturday was going to consist of waking up at midday, feeling sorry for myself, and doing nothing. But the words, alcohol and smoke were flowing.
Four AM. Jesus. I was talking to my brother across the other side of the world. I was feeling great, all things considered. But I couldn’t get her out of my mind. Something was wrong. The way I told her I was going home, thinking I wouldn’t meet her, but stayed out. The way my barriers of self-control had fallen down again, and she knew it.
I stretched from my chair to my bed. Beer in hand, I turned the music up a notch or two, and turned the light off. Sitting there, outstretched, in the dark, I let it all drift away. Deal with it when I’m sober. Or not.
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Return the favour. 
