I couldn't go out to drink, until I had drunk enough to open the door. This seemed at the time a highly logical process. I had blown the shit out of a box of tissues and felt wet and damp and used. I was numb. After the initial shock, there's a realization that you knew it was coming.
Relationships always end before they're called off.
And I don't know if I'm being funny or if recklessness is slowing spreading throughout my body like cancer. I thought about going out to find a cow. And then I remembered my original intention and judged by the fact that I had forgotten about it, that I was drunk enough to leave my room. So Denise called up Lucia and Lucia called up Chris and they picked me up and we all went out to a bar together. A bar that was filled with other grad students drinking off similar woes over the inconsistencies and inabilities to find happiness within their own piddling little lives, and as I sat there doped up on reasonably priced alcohol listening to my friends analyzable and agonize over my own piddling little life, I realized that I needed a cigarette.