Velouria (velouria) wrote,
Velouria
velouria

Down in it.

Some weekends I get tired of putzing about my 500 square-foot abode, all alone, day in and day out. Some days I'll have hope and will put on my face and go out into the sun and look around. It's not so bad, I'll say to myself over a white mocha at some hipster coffee establishment. Other days I'll lay face first on my couch in velour jimmy jammies for hours, utterly unable to even lift my eyelashes up to the TV. The hopelessness is crushing and it doesn't help that I vomed all over my designated couch blanket during a Thanksgiving drunk and I don't have it anymore. Now I'm cold.

I quit drinking. I feel like I'm 18 again and working at the drugstore. Innocent, but nothing is happening. Nothing get's worse, and nothing gets better. Last night I dreamt of the guy in the SaveMart that's been ringing me up for over a year. We were in a strange, scary castle and I was wandering the halls, opening the doors. I came upon him in one of these rooms and crawled into a tiny bed with him. I remember feeling safe. I woke up confused, having never spoken of anything beyond paper or plastic with him.

So today I went to SaveMart, figuring I might tell him this while he was scanning my hair dye. I don't know how I expected him to react, but he wasn't there.

With alcohol out of the picture, the chances of me dying in my bathroom like Brittany Murphy are lesser. Probably not something others look forward to, but I'm about out of ideas. I constantly read faggy metaphysical books and watch I Survived, Beyond and Back to try to gain some sort of appreciation for life from people who got their arms ripped off by a corn harvester, but it's just not working.

I'm just not feeling it.
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