Epiphany

People are strange. And alcohol makes them stranger.
Walking, not really the best word, home after spending my night yelling at my friends and running off by myself. With my head full of ideas and hopes for what could be accomplished after I've had another drink. The thing is of course is that it's not alcoholism. It's not a dependence. I mean, come on! I threw dice -

Rhinehart will be the death of you...

- that night to decide what my minimum spend was to be. Turned up as a tenner, it needn't be said that I exceeded that greatly. There's a weird satisfaction from drinking that's hard to accomplish any other way. That's not necessarily a bad thing though, I fully understand that satisfaction can be found through numerous other ways. But the satisfied feeling is always different with each thing.
I remember now that I ended up not remembering a lot. Chasing that beautiful blue dress -

was it beautiful? I don't think you were in a place to judge clothes very well. (a.) you couldn't see and (b.) you were blitzed out of your skull.

- through the sea of pulsing bodies. A fuckin' fiver? Every one of those people was a sucker. Changed, my ass! It was the same bloody place. Same stinkin' price and all. The thing is when I'm drunk I begin to become a lot more honest. I already am quite honest. Which is why the increase in honesty becomes a problem. Letting go is such a sweet release. The amount of times I yelled 'Hurrah!' and 'I'm not gay!' was so stupidly retarded. And the text messages? Oh sweet -

this is why girls don't like you, you're scary. In a creepy way.


- baby Jesus...  The thing is that I know I'm destined to live a monotonous solitary life. It's like some kind of self inflicted punishment for crimes I either would commit or perhaps will. I guess it's the whole 'sins of the mind' shit, you know No. 10 and all that crap.
I like the game I have to play each morning after. I call it: 'The Finding My Wallet and Keys Game' it's bags of fun.
I seem to fit in a lot more in places that aren't my home. When I have other people to look after I behave better and -

better? I guess you don't go running off in those situations. If that's your definition of 'better'.

- so I'm always looking for some kind of opportunity to find someone to take care of. It's quite pathetic now I think about it. Back home I do that. When I'm up north I don't. 'Cause I hang out with girls who I try to look out for, and I fail miserably at that due to my lack of assertiveness and my retarded drunkeness.
The thing I don't understand is my odd acceptance of all this. Surely that makes me insane or something. I don't really care it's as though I get that this is me and this is my life, and I'm cool with that. I don't know. I had so many ambitions as a kid. I do wonder what the hell happened. Why did I have to become so realistic? Being a realist sucks. I guess pipedreams are what they are in order to make things seem less crap than they are. Wait... I got that the wrong way round. Or something.
The thing is I keep up this childish dreaming. I'm still wishing I was Superman -

spider-man

- or that I have pyrokinesis, you know makin' fire and shit. That fire one is a surprisingly common one along with wishing I could fly.
Oh my God (No. 3)
There must be something quite wrong with me.

Hurrah.