It's Friday night. I'm twenty-five minutes shy of twenty four hours away from finishing up a 56.5 hour workweek. I'm about thirty-seven hours away from the start of my next work week. Next week it's 58.75 ... let's pray I don't end up in jail for braining customers with tiny bottles of expensive hair product or choking them with fat-girl g-strings ... shall we?

I'm eating Panda licorice bites & drinking the one beer I had left in the fridge ... a Pacifico. It might sound gross, & had I added lime to the beer it may have been, but I didn't & so ... they go oddly together.

I should be out, but I don't know, I don't want to deal with people. I've had enough people. Don't want to talk to anyone or see anyone or be expected to respond in any way.

Just want to drink until I pass out, but that's not happening tonight. Though ... there's an unopened bottle of Tanqueray in the studio that little brother gave me for Xmas & I believe there may be another beer or two lingering near the bed also. Who knows, I may enlist them as sleeping aids. To keep away or intensify the bad dreams, I haven't yet decided which I'd rather they do. Waking up at 3am with a sweaty brow & a gasp stuck in your throat is oddly exhilarating.

Been spending some time seeking out new living arrangements & realizing that it's going to be quite expensive & a third job may be necessary. I don't want a third job. I like the two I've got, another would be overkill & I'd sink slowly into the role of Bitter Retail Peon for all eternity. But, it's either another job or no effing money for fun (read: booze)... or, gasp & puke, sink to getting roomates. No.

Want.
To.
LIVE.
ALONE.

alone.

a. l. o. n. e.

Want to sit in my living room, drinking beer ... alone. Want to write in my diary, drinking beer ... alone. Want to bathe with the bathroom door open & Interpol up to eleven ... drinking beer, possibly gin ... alone. Want to cook breakfast in my panties & sit on my couch, watching cartoons, drinking beer, by myself ... alone.

I'll pay $675 a month for the chance to be alone.

okay, so, alone with Mu Shu & Oonah.

You get the gist.

I'm grumpy.

I wish I had more beer.

Maybe someone to enjoy me while I'm grumpy & drunk?

Grunmpk?

Drumpy?

Grunk?

That makes no sense if I want to be alone, but it's my perogative to make no sense.

All day long I deal with people & I've got this half-assed smile on my face & I answer their questions as quickly as I can only to be slapped upside the head with a million more before I can slink away. While I answer them I'm dreaming up the horrid things I wish I could say instead. I imagine my silent responses floating in thought bubbles above my head, comic book style. Thoughts that only I can see, giving me the upper hand. That's what keeps the smile on my face, half-assed as it may be.

I want to watch a funny movie.

Baseketball or Team America or Jay & Silent Bob.

Something that will make me laugh without trying.

I'm so sick of everything contrived.

Things are so overanalyzed ... we're all overprocessed & I'm sick of feeling like there's not a spontaneous bone left in the collective body.

They want me to sign up for my 401K. "Congratulations Miss Fields, you've been with us over a year now & it's time to think about your future ... yes, at 32 years old you can prepare for retirement & we can help."

"Maybe some other time, fuck you very much."

Makes me feel much older than my years.

Want to lay in bed, read my book, watch the snow & listen to Iron & Wine.

Note I'm not doing these things.

I don't do those things anymore.

I need space & privacy within that space.

I feel like one of those weeds that grows up through the cracks in a sidewalk. Crowded & green. Wedged in. Sweetly persistant & slightly smothered. Doomed.

I can hear Jennifer Love Hewitt overacting on the television set behind me & the bored sighs of my sister & her husband as they watch it.

It's driving me crazy.

Perhaps that's unnecessary as I'm close enough to walk.

Beer me.

:blowing my speakers:Iron & Wine ~ Faded from the Winter
:feeding my head: Christopher Moore ~ Bloodsucking Fiends
:rotting my brain through osmosis: Ghost Whisperer

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