OK I'm drunk now. I'm writing this on two whiskies. Which is like way above my limit. Although I wish I could open a bottle of wine by myself and chug it down like mineral water. Maybe that would numb me.
Everything hurts. A mass or raw nerve endings.
I drove to Backyard with Mary Zack of the broken toe fame. She came because I told her I seriously needed to get drunk and there was so much shit going down that I could no longer handle it. Too much sadness and misery and despair and illness and hurt. All at once.
Too much!
More than I could handle. Not without a drink or a hundred.
I think my tolerance is rising. Two whiskies and I feel nothing. I mean everything is thrown into sharp relief, even the pain, even the sense of abandonment, but still...I discussed Jane Austen and Jane Eyre and drove home sober. Although I was drunk. And my heart felt like a lump of lead in my chest. Even then.
Look for the girl with the broken smile, ask her if she wants to stay a while and she will be loved.
But I'm not.
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