Friday, July 29, 2011

I don't get drunkenness. I don't get the drunk behavior. I don't get the crowd mindset.

[Events described took place 2days ago. disregard all spelling and grammatical mishaps.]

I am antisocial, and I am not among people wherever.

On the other hand, I get smoking; I get that it soothes the nerves, relieves stress, and ultimately kills the tension. Also, it effectively livens the sad boring moments, while waiting for something to peg the day.

Smoking could bring people together. I might be wrong.


I am now inside a bar, had just downed a shot of tequila, and smiling. I am desperate to show people how high my cheekbones are placed. The socializing has begun. I am no social animal, not even a plankton at basic socializing. I am primitive in that sense and I prefer intimacy with a lot fewer people over multiple crowds. And loud music is not enough to fill in the empty silences.

Tequila is coming back up my mouth right now. Later.


Writing this after my nth shot. The dexterities of both my fingers are royally suffering. Still not getting why tequila is thought to espouse socializing. Happy socializing. It is good though that I'm still awake enough to make corrections.

Later. Just got another effing shot of tequila. Why not just give it intravenously? It would make more sense. It doesn't taste too good; it tastes like the most evil thing. It is the devil's blood.

Anyhow I’m still coherent enough to blog, but I have to think a little, hence I keep correcting spelling mistakes.


Thankfully a good friend has let me sleep at her place. I've slept for an hour (I think), and I think I still can handle thinking, at least. I am good enough to blog, but my fingers are still not as compliant compared to when I'm sober. The feeling isn't lovely; it is not the best feeling.

Alcohol is a frenemy.


It is 3PM. The sleep wasn't smooth. I kept waking up and going back to doze off; I felt hot and I felt cold. Clearly, sleeping drunk is not the best way to fall sleep.

I am now figuring out how to get on with my day. Movies with friends at 8PM? Sure. Maybe. I'd gladly do anything else than drink. And maybe read a book when I get home. JD Salinger's The Catcher In The Rye's Holden Caulfield is waiting. Or not. He doesn't care.



ovie has been cancelled. It is now almost 6PM. There goes my master-level planning for the day. This sucks, not having to go through the plans. But then they are my friends, and they are busy, and I am not. The void I try to fill whenever I plan my day is time they want for themselves. What I mostly hate, they would love to have. Rest is a painfully long, monotonous feeling. Activity is what I want, for now.

Now I sweat for nothing. I read for nothing. And I am practically strapped onto a plane seat, waiting to fly off and drag what's remaining of my life somewhere else far.

Have I mentioned I'm leaving soon? Of course.

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