Many Days Have Passed

My drinking exploits this weekend have left me a little fucked up. Friday night I tripped over my jeans and fell on the corner of this trunk in my room and am now rocking a major bottleneck bruise. Last night I just couldn't get my ass on the barstool at the L&L so I landed on the floor like a cockroach on its back and that somehow fucked up my ankle. Sometime after that is where my memory cuts out. Too much beer. I handle the first like, four beers real well, then I get to about eight and I should be done, but at that point I need beers like Meursault needed water that fateful day on the beach. So anyway, I hit the point past counting, which I think means about 12 and I'm gone. Only this time I seriously was gooooone. Black out! Shout it out loud, the devil's keeping time on the brake pad now.*

Gross.

Two of these, about four cans of Miller Lite, two Old Styles and then who knows.

In conclusion, I'm out forty bucks at least.

I can't say I'm filled with pride. Blacking out does not equal pride. Not only that but I've basically spent the whole weekend in a venomous booze-filled haze or asleep. I think I've been sober a whole six hours out of the past 48. And to where am I headed tonight? A bar. A bar with cheap beer and punk rock. Goddammit.










*The Falcon/"Blackout"