Eh, drinking had nothing to do with it. I got drunk because I had already made up my mind and needed a distraction. My sister chugs screwdrivers every night, and I don't feel the slightest desire to touch the shit for a very long time.
Editor's Note: "Long time" = 1 day ~ x years, to be decided at a later date.
Also, no need to commiserate. I think I freaked out a couple shrinks with my bubbly optimism. Well, not "bubbly". I'm way too fucking cool for that pussy bullshit, obviously. (It doesn't go well with wearing my sister's pants and combing greasy hair over half of my face while writing poetry with my own wrist-blood, anyway.)
Maybe it was more my joking that I had ten box-cutters littered throughout my house and I used sleeping pills that threw them off. I always did have a macabre sense of humor.
Few things are rarely as pointless as we make them out to be, and profundity is grossly overrated. Right now, I could take a haymaker to the face from a transvestite octopus dick-punch and I'd just pop a shit-eating grin and laugh. Why? Because, Draggie. Transvestite octopus dick-punches are goddamn hilarious, that's why.
I'm not trying to sell your seriousness short, it's just that I'm not after condolences; this post is just to get this shit off my chest, and to apologize, but I really am doing fine.
Your concern is duly appreciated. I'd put that ♥ symbol-thing here but I forgot how to make them, and also because it's really, truly corny. Not as corny as some things, but way beyond the boundaries of my weird good spirits anyway.
Also, I said "few things are rarely as pointless". This is a hilariously stupid typo. Brain's a bit rusty from writing nothing but snarky forum responses for the last year, it seems.
Life and circumstances will smash you down a thousand times over, but you get to choose the manner in which you will face the relentless force of entropy. I'd guess it probably feels pretty good be out of that pit.
The pit's still there--always is, no matter who you are, methinks. The difference is, now I'm just content to dash up some cheap wallpaper on its dank walls and light a damn candle rather than sitting around in the dark.
I always was too mopey for my own good, anyway, and if there's one thing I've discovered from the Learning Channel it's that interior design fixes everything.
(Livejournal has taught me that really bad metaphors fix things, too.)
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The drink is a bitch.
I won't talk about it here but email em if you want to commiserate.
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Editor's Note: "Long time" = 1 day ~ x years, to be decided at a later date.
Also, no need to commiserate. I think I freaked out a couple shrinks with my bubbly optimism. Well, not "bubbly". I'm way too fucking cool for that pussy bullshit, obviously. (It doesn't go well with wearing my sister's pants and combing greasy hair over half of my face while writing poetry with my own wrist-blood, anyway.)
Maybe it was more my joking that I had ten box-cutters littered throughout my house and I used sleeping pills that threw them off. I always did have a macabre sense of humor.
Reply
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I'm not trying to sell your seriousness short, it's just that I'm not after condolences; this post is just to get this shit off my chest, and to apologize, but I really am doing fine.
Your concern is duly appreciated. I'd put that ♥ symbol-thing here but I forgot how to make them, and also because it's really, truly corny. Not as corny as some things, but way beyond the boundaries of my weird good spirits anyway.
Also, ♥.
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I always was too mopey for my own good, anyway, and if there's one thing I've discovered from the Learning Channel it's that interior design fixes everything.
(Livejournal has taught me that really bad metaphors fix things, too.)
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It's good to see you got through this, and I'm glad you shared it.
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