Welcome To My Bed

Under table, also dreaming.


Listening to music that I love by people that are all too hate-able right now is an activity more draining than it deserves to be.

Last night degenerated big time. I fell asleep very drunk in a bed I haven't slept in since over a month ago. I feel like I could've ended up blindsided by a kiss if I wasn't as careful as I managed to be. Even when I am a lush, I am a conscientious lush. Thankfully, never have I been an angry drunk. Things could have gotten ugly otherwise. At any rate. I am going to miss that backyard gazebo, giggling until all hours, the cats enjoying the smell of my shoes, fast food on the way to bigger and better and out of state. Brooklyn this afternoon was culture shock, and I felt like crying but held it back in an attempt to be a comfort instead of a burden. Maggie and I took a Polaroid together and (as far as I know), it's the only picture on her temporary dorm room wall.

Tomorrow morning is another attempt at a yard sale, hopefully at least slightly more successful than the last one. But I won't hold my breath.

Right now, I am floating. My feet are sore from all the running around I've been doing. All the everywhere I've been. I'd pass out right now if I wasn't so wired from doing absolutely nothing. Work makes me crazy. Dive bars are not ideal places for the barely legal. Not that I can really claim that title anymore, being that my birthday is on the inside of a month from now. A marine on his way to boot camp wants to take me out this week. We'll see if I have time for any of this. So many people to see, so many things to get done. So many extra shifts that have been thrust upon me by well-meaning co-workers. It's not that I can't use the money. I just feel a little overwhelmed at the moment. Maybe more than a little.