It was one of those weekends. You know, one of those weekends where you drink way too much, steadily, continuously, and things go from one emotional extreme to the other and back again? It was both wonderful and hellish (with a lean to the hellish) and right now, Monday morning, I'm exhausted and drained and, well, sad.
The fun is all over for me again. I'm back to having to be a grownup and I'm also back to being as alone as I've ever been. Not that this is surprising; I expected it; maybe not quite so soon. That's why I have to be cryptic sometimes: things can change in the proverbial twinkling of some huge and glaring red eye. And they have. Not really for the better. The spider who was living in my shower is dead and a curled husk on the ceiling. The gates to the doors of perception have slammed closed yet again and it's back to business as usual at Hangover Headquarters.
Sometimes I wonder what gods I offended so powerfully in my last life or two, or maybe it's something I did in this one and no longer remember or maybe it's just that I'm a fuckup. There you have it and life just goes on because it must. Next year around this time I think I'll take an extended vacation in a concrete bunker under a bleak mountain somewhere because while you can live on indefinitely hopeless, happiness is a painful fucking thing.
In other news I had a party last night; it was really nice; my friends came down from Bat Cave bringing a load of firewood which was excellent and, also excellently, my friend A, using a rake and the whirlwind ADD abilities that are his trademark, totally cleaned up the horrific Dog Bosnia that Django had turned my backyard into.
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1 comment:
Sorry, girl.
Use some of that angst to delegate the cleaning to the messers!
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