Johnnie Walker Red

I hope this doesn't get to be a habit, but I could see how it could become one. Real easy.

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Written Saturday, December 23, 2006 at 3:04 am

Am I drunk?
How does one person define drunk?
I can still type, though with difficulty.
I can think and rant.
I can feel and hurt.
But who wants to hurt? Who wants to think that’s anything other than the default emotion you go to when there’s nothing else to say?
Am I drunk? I don’t know. I’m the last person to ask.
There are people who would know.
I feel tired. Real sleepy like, but energetic. Still lots of kinesis in me.
And that chick, that bitch, who won’t talk to me.
Who doesn’t call.
Shit.
Cause he told her not to, right? Cause she’s not allowed.
But also cause she doesn’t wanna.
Also cause sh’es mad that I have a passing interest iun schedule-friendly archaeology.
But I’m reeling, and finding it difficult to focus or to stay still.
And that might be drunk.
But the whiskey does me good. Makes me feel good.
Didn’t do much for the cigar.
A buck seventy and one big glass of Jjohnny Walker Red and I’m still thinking too much to make this anything worthwhile.
I might be drunk. I wouldn’t know.
And I think back to when we were happy and I fear
That I’ll never be that happy again;
Ad that I don’t even get the neat throwaway happiness of Bukowski,
I dno’t even get his leavings,
Save that I want them, save that I think I’ll prove to her
That I’m not the person she knows I am
Which I am
I bought presents today, three days before Christmas.
I went to Barnes and Noble
And was pointed towards We Got The Neuton Bomb
By an extremely attractive lady with a largish nose
Who I found stunning
And told her so
And asked if I could give her my number
And was told she was dating someone
But hell I tried, at least Itried
Which was morethan I would have done a week ago
Morre than I would have done before she gave this to me
And now my leg shimmies and the whiskey hits me in the back of the mouth
And I want to be so refined and brooding with my cigars and booze
And that bottle of wine on my shelf just wating for my attention
And that’s going to make things okay, right?
That’s goin to help.
He’s not as smart as me.
He’s not as good-looking.
Hell, I’d get a tattoo,
If anything deserved it.
My body doesn’tneed permanence, my rapid weight loss proved it
It needs cariety
Like me
God I wanted out when I was in
And, out, I want to be in again
As if that would make ime happy
And I wonder if, tomorrow,
I’ll read this nad not remember having wrote it.
But I bet that one big glass of whiskey
Isn’t enough
To make you gorget the first big regret-fes you’ve had in about a week.