I restrcted  myself to one burn, to my ankle.

A good night.

I think.

*whines*

I am angsty.

I’m not writing.

These are probably related phenomena.

and the tears are gone

So about fifteen minutes after that post last night–

–I was euphoric.

Completely fucking euphoric. I could not stop laughing, manic, hysterical laughter that shook my entire body.

It was scary, even while it was happening.

And then, fifteen minutes after that I was outside smoking a cigarette and I started burning myself again. I did this last year, almost exactly a year ago. It was a short period of my life. I hope this one is just as short. I enjoy burning, but I don’t like the blisters and burns.

If my internet hadn’t broken at 4am, I would have posted in the moment and it would have been a lot more interesting.

tears

The only time I’ve ever seen my father cry was at the Vietnam Memorial.

So now, whenever I see the Vietnam Memorail, I cry.

And it was a part of this tv show I’m watching (NCIS) and now I cannot stop crying.

Like, I’m sobbing. 

And I know I’m drunk but what the hell. I was in such a fucking good mood until 15 minutes ago, but now that one glimpse of the Vietnam Memorial, and remembering my dad, and I don’t even know what’s happened. I cannot stop crying. Full-out wailing sobbing crying.

And I can’t stop.

I can’t stop.

here I come

Oh. My. God. I am in such a fabulous mood. I don’t really know why.  But my god am I in a good mood.

I got tattooed today. My first. It’s so pretty. Prettycrazycool.

I think those two data are mutually exclusive, since I put down the deposit on my tattoo last week, before I got all down and funky.  But still an interesting correlation.

So now my back hurts.

But I am in such a damn good mood. I feel like I could take on the world.

LOOK OUT WORLD!

the withnail conundrum

So I have a conundrum. Today Netflix brought me Withnail and I. Now, as everyone who has ever seen it knows, this movie is only watched properly if you are in the company of a bottle of red wine. Wine glasses are discouraged.

Now, I can’t stay entirely true to the Withnail roots, because the only wine we have right now is some horrible jug wine my roommates bought, and I don’t know if you’ve ever tried to drink that straight from the bottle (jug) but it doesn’t work so well.

But the question is

well

What to do?

About drinking, at all, I mean.

Because, remember how I said I was going to lay off drinking for a while? Wine is one of those things I was laying off. But. Seriously, you just can’t watch Withnail and I without it. It’s like a law.

Okay, realistically I’m going to be drunk in about three hours. We’ll see how that goes.

final results

I am going to bed.
I successfully did not drink.
Gold star for me.

all of me

A friend of mine recently posted on his blog about what he calls “writer’s bipolarism.” I’m breaking a huge blogging rule by not linking to him, but I’m really trying to keep my two online identities separate, at least for now, and I don’t know if he gets pings or what. I just don’t want that connection there.

Anyhoozle.

Writer’s bipolarism. Not a new idea, really. There have been studies done about creativity and its relation to bipolarism and schizophrenia. Basically, a lot of really creative people are really fucked up. I think we can all agree on this. Right?

So anyway.

In past blogs, I’ve only shown my good side. I mean, I’ve written about times I was stressed (ack! finals!) but definitely nothing like what I’ve been doing here at Everyday Gray.

And I’ve decided that’s going to be the main difference here.

Everyday Gray is going to be my place to strip down to my soul. I started by saying it’s going to be where I show my “writerly self” but really that just means this. My soul is my writing, and my soul is a fucked-up confused place.

Here is my soul.

poll

Okay.

Which is the greater evil?

Drinking

or chain-smoking?

Because I think one of them has to happen tonight.

the post that starts out about The Avengers and ends up being about booze

Personally, I think I would make a fabulous secret agent. Like Emma Peel.

My Christmas present to myself–the full Emma Peel megaset–finally arrived in the mail today. I know what I’m doing this weekend.

I’m glad I have something to distract me, actually. I’m currently in my room hiding from my roommates. Well, not really from them. From the alcohol that is involved in hanging out with them.

I decided yesterday that I was done drinking for a while. Depressed drinking never ends well, so I decided to take the initiative and stop the flow. I’ve done it before–gone dry. It helps.

Except when I fail.

I met my friends downtown last night for a thing, and afterwards they all wanted to go to a bar for just one drink.

So I had just one drink. Then two, because everyone was taking so long to finish their one.

Then came home to our fully-stocked fridge and by the time I went to bed I was drunk off my ass.

Willpower, I lack it.

So now I’m hiding in my room so that the alcohol is out of sight and out of mind. (That second part is obviously not working so far.) I really want a drink. We have Newcastle Brown Ale in our fridge, and my body really just wants it wants it wants it. I can almost feel it sliding down my throat.

I tell myself I just want the one, just the one beer, but really I know myself. It’s never just one.

So here I am, rambling on about how I want my booze. Sigh.

Sobriety. Here we go.