Sometimes, you know, my entries are like affirmations to myself. I tell myself I have it made. I tell myself I have the life. I paint the rosy picture(well, the times when Im not portraying myself as a dirty ol drunk). Sometimes I actually believe I have my shit together.
But I dont. I so dont have my shit together. You should see me now .waking up in the mornings, near death, clothes everywhere. My bathrooms a pigsty, my kitchens cluttered, there are still moving boxes in the hallway and in the back roomsome empty, some full, some half-unpacked. Sometimes I smoke a cigarette and butt it out in an old catfood can. Sometimes I walk around in a daze, in my undies.
And Im as fat/flabby as ever again. Comfort eating. Comfort drinking. Occasionally comfort napping on the weekends when I should be busy getting my shit together. I cant believe Ive actually slutted out as much as I have in the past few monthswho the hell would want to see this body naked?? Ow. Its horrifying.
I couldnt sleep last night. Because I ate and drank too much last night. Because I didnt want to go home after work last night. So Maria met me out, and we had a wonderful dinner together. I even introduced myself to a handsome stranger while I was on my way to the bathroom. After I came back to my seat and I was stuffing my maw, the waiter brought over a giant ice-cream topped brownie with three spoons, complements of the handsome stranger. Flattering, yes but oh so disgusting. Yet when the handsome stranger came over to say hello, I felt forced to eat big scoops of delicious melty chocolate so as not to offend him. Horrible goodness.
I woke with a start in the middle of the night just thinking about how gross I am. I pulled my cellphone out from the plug so I could see what time it was (2:35), and I noticed a dirty text from New York Guy (ick) and I couldnt fall back to sleep.
Thoughts that ran through my mind:
and on and on. You get the picture.
The alarm finally went off.
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