I slept slightly under five hours last night. Or should I say, this morning? Now I'm already too awake and probably going to head down to the Columbia River to burn a letter and smoke. I can't shake the feeling that there is vomit crawling up the back of my throat, I've been on the verge of puking for most of yesterday evening, last night, and apparently this morning. My head is pounding.
But all of this complaint is nothing. It is meaningless. Why should my discomfort matter in the larger scheme of destroying everything I can get my hands on? You should all go listen to Rilo Kiley sing "Absence of God". Jenny Lewis describes me perfectly in the last verse.
Oh wait, no one reads this except my sister and my former best friend. Isn't this just a pathetic cry for sympathy or forgiveness? Possibly. I think I might have made (one of) the worst decisions in my life yesterday.
On the brighter side of life, I lost some weight from all the trauma.
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