Wingdings and Things

Howdy, all. It’s been a few days since I’ve posted, for which I refuse to apologize. I should mention that, as I don’t have the internet in my apartment, everything I post is while I’m at work. This actually goes a long way to explain the frequently bitter and snarky nature of many of these posts.
Regardless, it was a relatively busy few days. On Thursday I went over to a friend’s place where I was subjected to a few hours of reality television. Have you seen that Donald Trump show? What an absurd program! My understanding, correct me if I’m wrong, is that Trump is trying to find an executive to run one of his companies, right? So why the fuck do the candidates have to do these crazy specialized jobs? The episode I saw had them trying to design and market office furniture for Staples. Then, the losing team was chastised for failing: "You’re supposed to be hot shot lawyers, and this is what you come up with?" I don’t know about you, but if I wanted someone to design office furniture, I would go to a … um… designer. Why would they expect lawyers to be able to design timesaving products? Weird show.
Also annoying is the fact that the regular bartender at my local pub is in Scotland for a month, the bastard. As he was a first hand witness to my astonishing capacity to drink, he was pretty supportive about my quitting. So much so, that he would serve me my club sodas for free. Well, he ‘s gone, and the replacement bartender is apparently not aware that I have a disease, and the fucker charges me 2.25 for a club soda. I am going to say that again; 2.25 for a club soda. My regular man even gives me a full-ass pint of club soda for free; this son of a bitch gives me a small-ass glass. For 2.25. Let me put this into context, a rye and coke of the same proportions is 3.25. Apparently you’re mostly paying for the coke. So I call bullshit on the replacement bartender. And you know what? The motherfucker still greets me like a regular! "Hey, man, how’s it going?" It would be going a lot better if you weren’t fucking me on the club-goddamned-soda, you insensitive prick!
Still, the night wasn’t a total wash as a friend of mine came back from Europe, and it was good to see her. Also, I saw these girls, who have downgraded from being merely chilly to me, to ignoring me completely. I won’t say I don’t deserve it, though. I don’t have a lot of amends to make from my drinking days, I wasn’t that kind of drunk, but I do regret the way I treated these girls. And not just because they come to the same bar as me every week.
Later that night I smoked a good deal of the reefer, which I haven’t done in some time. Witness. It felt really good to be fucked up on something, and I realized on Saturday that it’s really escape I’m addicted to. Whether it’s booze, or drugs, or movies, or writing, or whatever. I just want to get out of my own head as much as I can. Booze is just my weapon of choice. So the trick now is to figure out why, oh why, I hate myself so very much*. Unless I can crack that one, I don’t think I’ll ever be happy, without being drunk. The plus side is, if I can figure it out, I can probably go back to drinking, armed with my new self-awareness.
So, #1 on the to-do list: Figure self out. I gots high hopes.



* Maudlin!