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I need to get the fuck out of here.

I'm in a very bad mood, terribly sad and horribly angry at the same time, and when that happens it all turns inwards, my lasers of hate focus on myself. It's not good. I should just finish my beer and go to sleep. Better yet NOT finish the beer. I dont even LIKE beer. What the fuck am I doing? For real. Miller Light? what the fuck jo.

So I'm at the Lumberyard, I dont fucken know why cuz I hate that place, seriously it's chock full of drunken sluts with the sniffles and 99% of the boys look like the same boy. I was bored and pissed off before I walked in. Im in there for not even ten minutes and some dude Ive never met, that I dont recognize walks up to me and says "Joey, right?" "yeah... who's asking?" "um, I heard you were a recovering heroin addict" "maybe, why you asking?" and Im thinking he's gonna ask for my help cuz a freidn fo a friend is trying to kick yadda yadda but no he comes with "cuz I got some really good shit to sell." "what?!" "yeah, mad cheap too, good shit, five balloons in my pocket right now" "you gotta fucken be kidding me" (i'm totally fucken ready to kill this bastard right, but he thinks Im interested, he's taking everything I say the wrong way) "no for real I got balloons" "no, you dont have enough for me" "I got a LOT" (he wasnt getting it at all) "nah, Im straight" and I tried to walk away but he grabs my arm and says "it's really good shit, and I can always find it, everyday... I even got clean sharps on me, all you need is a spoon, just give it one try" I sort of laughed, like one of the snort-dismissal kind of sounds, "one try" (sheuh right) and I yanked my arm outta his grip and got the fuck outta there before I hurt him. He might as well have been dangling it in front of my face "all you need is a spoon" what the fucken fuck, Im staying the fuck home from now on. (as if parties dont show up every goddamned night of the week here)

It was a bad night even before that. And Ive been pretty depressed lately. Ive been fucking up a lot lately. Life is a treadmill right now, Im not getting anywhere. A million awful things go through my mind and I gotta actively think myself out of dumb shit. "it's only a feeling, feelings arent real, you wont feel like this in the morning, hell you may not even feel like this in five minutes, it's only temporary, let's not do anything permanent" etc

I havent emailed Lon back yet. The convo is gonna be slow-going I can tell. It takes em a week to word what i want to say but Im not saying what I want to say. it's not that Im not brave enough but just that Im not sure if it's the right thing to do. I ask people "if this happened would you want to know" and I give em the scenerio, and they all say yes, it'd fucken suck but I'd want to know... but I dont think Lon would. Im fucken not making sense. You can tell I really want to tell him, but Ive caused enough chaos and I think I should keep the burden. He makes me nervous. But he kind of always did. But this isnt a good nervousness now

oh Autopilot get me to my bed before I hit the ejection button

open house tomorrow, I work 2-10 and have to clean my room for the showing before I go to work, and I should probably clean up the cat puke and litter and old dog food and spilled cereal milk thats all over the kitchen floor and all the other fucken messes that I didnt fucken make that are throughout the house. "...get to the farmhouse on east lake road, it'll be like Walden and you know it, go now, it's pretty far to work but youve biked that far, youve walked that far, you can get up an hour earlier every day to make it on time, specially seeing youll be getting enough sleep and mother fucking PEACE living there, dont wait on the car or license, it'll happen soon, you already spent this week's check on fucken what, smokes for Trell, beer for the camprer party AND YOU DONT LIKE BEER, two 22s of malt liquor that you chugged like water, drinks for Rick at the bar, beers for Trell at the bar, beers for Gary at the bar, orange juice and brownies, french fries and milk, that tab of X yesterday (which might account for why youre so depressed today you dumb fuck!) gas money for Gary, christ almighty if youre gonna waste your money at least waste it on yourfuckingSELF what the fuck is wrong with you get your fucking ass to bed, I promise no smack dreams, just dead sleep, then wake up and clean your fucking room, it's just a fucking room, for real life isnt this hard OK, I'll even let the packers win, whatever it takes to stop your complaining, you dont even know what a bad life is... dump out the fucking beer and go to bed now, it wont be raining when you wake up" and I gotta do what Autopilot says or else more bad things will happen

Always remember to quit while you're ahead.

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