April 5th, 2003

ringwraith

i don't romanticize being drunk, i romanticize alchoholism.

by the time i get to the party, erica is already passed out & covered in her own vomit. its kind of adorable, but her twin sister doesn't neccisarily agree. but emily, you get a twin! its so unfair. when phillip mentions a curfew i mention that my mother is ovulating. the party is a small crowd of strangers, so instead of trying to meet anyone, we drink their alchohol & then leave for a bar. at the bar, we see barry manilow. my directions to the party look like some kind of formulae- drive my way, & we will end up under water. why are there so many songs about rainbows. this morning i am so fucking distant from my life. i make about forty (40) strips of bacon, the coffee pot overflows, & all i can dream about is being a dizzy, married homeowner. i'm so fucking confused. a house that owns up to the saying "safe as houses." a house that has doors for me to walk down. the house is haunted. but somehow that all changes when i get there. ghosts into hallways. because an ego is a difficult thing to maintain when it isn't neccisary. individuality is not a burden meant to be undertaken alone, etc. but that wasn't the thoughts going through my head just moments ago. the truth is, all i could think about was waking up to her every morning. i'm so fucking toppled. i lose my use of language when i'm around her because i'm so tower of babel. this is bar none the most dangerous thing i have ever done. here i go, her i go.

shit, whats happening with kompressor tonight?
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