Fireworks Accidentally On Purpose (I Never Played Those Kinds Of Games At Parties)

A strung up creature of habit with a busted lip—I'm all post-traumatic stress. I'm staring at the quality of this print job and it's absolutely impeccable. The calibre of home printers now has escalated to the point of ecstasy. I made this sign for my door the other day, that says something in latin, and it's amazing, you feel like you could climb the letters, hang yourself by the back of your jacket off the serifs. This thing prints better than the one at the office. Christ, there's this woman there, she's just moved into that vacant office, and she's got the thinest wrists I've ever seen. I want to do psychedelics with her and hold hands and nuzzle like some foreign creature.

I'm trying to get over the ritual of last night, drinking orange juice to help excuse myself to my body, to offset the damage I did to my liver. I'm a bad partner. Oh, I'm sorry baby, I tell my body. This was the last time. I'm here for you, just you. Yeah, you're my everything. We both know I'm lying, but leaving each other, of course, is detrimental. I'm wondering what would happen if I put my brain into a computer. I'd probably try to kill myself, but only after we became best friends. I'm pausing, and wondering if that's what being a best friend is. Now I'm playing a game on my cell phone. No really, I'm actually doing that. It birdchirps a little victory noise to me and encourages me like a patronizing lover. Jerk.

In my older years, I feel like I will say “In my younger years,” a lot. In my younger years I was a lot faster. I was alone a lot more often. I walked three miles to school in the snow. I told my friends that a candle burning at both ends is just twice as hot. I never thought I'd do junk with a pinup. I always new I'd never get sick of models and always knew that they'd always be sick of me, and knew they'd always know I'd never know when to know them, and that'd they'd always never want to really know me. I never appreciated the ocean.

Behind me in the other room the TV is turned on and I'm shocked, and I'm frozen because someone is in my house and I realize that in that moment, I'd never forget what it was once like to live alone, and despite how much I tried, I was always going to remember it, and in that second it made me sad, so sad the warm smell of rising crusting bread in the oven couldn't undo it. Well, actually, it did, because let's be honest—there is nothing that can do anything quite as good. So.

Oh god, what's the point, procrastination is just holding a thumb over the end of a hose. I don't know what I did to deserve this, but I'm sorry to whoever I did it to, I'm so goddamned sorry, I don't even remember their name. In my younger years, I probably did something that I should probably remember right now.