2:05:24 AM

I did end up drinking alone last night. Found some Tequila in our neglected stash and made myself margaritas. Not so trashy for solo drunkenness. I danced the seven veils. I wuz a titty dancer in a past life, no doubt. And played around with a new song. Guitar tuned to open Cm, made me fall in love with her. Hearing my guitar with that tuning.... oh purrr... I get down on my knees and kiss her all over. It felt so good to be playing and singing again that I played that one song over and over again for probably an hour. Recorded most of it. Though it's not as clear sounding when I'm on the floor (Ha! as Jeff [buckley] just now sings "..so new to your bedroom floor..") rolling around with my redhotlover of a guitar... An hour of the same verses repeated over and over, drunkenly, is not very useful really, but it felt so damn good as I wuz playing. AudioSex. I had to keep it.

"Drink up, baby. Stay up all night. With the things you could do, you won't but you might... "

-elliott

"I've loved so many times and I've drowned them all."

-buckley

That is what I hate so much about the getting drunk alone thing; the obvious longing for company. Makes me want honey. I would shut up at that, given this is such a cliche' topic in my world, this 'wish you were here, who ever you are"but, but, but... I remember being twelve years old in this big drama with The Parents over my having gotten drunk in some desert with my cousins and those summer strangers. I remember sarcastically saying, "Whaddya want? Me to go into A.A?" and my dad answering, in dead seriousness,
"You could come with me Chaara."
What?!
Scary moment.
What do you do? These people think you have a problem cuz you drank. And only once, at that point.
It gets so freaky to be dependent on such ...parents.
They had no idea how totally TAME I wuz compared to other kids.
They don't know how fucking lucky they were.

Why do I still feel like that twelve year old?

What would I do if I wuz told I had a day to live? What would you do?
I'd make some phonecalls to the one(s) I lust for and hopefully spend my last hours drunk in happy copulation.
That's what I think now anyway. I can see me being told I had 24 hours left, and I would just sit at home going
"Hmm... sure wish someone would call."

What happened there?
I used to act on these things. Didn't I? What changed?
I am dying. I am melodramatic.

I wuz just remembering that guy who gave me a ride from Manning Park to Osoyoos and told me all about these girlfriends of his who were all named Heather. One wuz an ex-wife. That wuz a great ride, I loved his stories. Random thoughts...

Oh, continuation of the "I Have No Food" whining:
The Mother went grocery shopping today. With much arguing and strife I convinced her to buy these groceries for me for my birthday. My last free lunch. I don't know how my mad ego will deal with handing her money the next time. I loathe surrender.

I then went out into the consumer world on my own. cocoa cream lipstick I get and I am sandwiched in line between gaggles of giggling prepubescant blonde girls and I feel like a mother and an other and I want out but I want my damn lipstick. blonde girls in front of me had found $50 somewhere with the eyeliner or mascara or something.

Damn, I think. Wish I had found that. but i don't suppose i need it as much as a couple of 12, 13, 14 whatever year old girls. money is freedom at that age. okay, at any age really. but I doubt i had more that $20 at a time when i wuz there, and the more i needed money the more stifled trapped stuck I felt the angrier i got the less my parents would be willing to give me any financial assistance. I am still like this aren't I? Good God, when will I be able to even seem adult-like? Desperation makes me mad, berserker, crazy fucking lunatic angry, which is most uncool by the rest of the population who may have been willing to assist me out of whatever's fucking me up if I had just been cute and humble about it. (Jim singing "desperately in need... ")

I'm only awake now cuz I just took a shower and my hair is still wet, I don't want to sleep on it or it'll be all fucky in the morning. Or afternoon rather. When I wake up. If I choose to wake up.

My grandparents came over tonight. I sat and watched my grandma talk emphatically about knitting while my mother listened intently and made dramatic enthusiastic comments. My grandpa and I just sitting there, numbly, not speaking. When grandmother and mother left the table my grandpa and I started talking. I realize the reason the guy makes me so angry a lot of the time is cuz we're so alike. bla bla. I simply realized we're equally inept in the faux enthusiasm required in most social gatherings. So we sat and talked, I don't even remember really what we talked about, I wuz just glad to have someone in my house to confide in who is not my mother.

Message from Andrea saying Nadia wuz having a party for Ariya today. Ariya being Nadia's daughter. Born a day before my birthday. My ego (again with the damn ego! Somebody please asassinate my fucking ego, it's killing me) of course wished labour had waited and we could have had the same birthday. She's turning two already. My God. What the hell happened? I have a clear vision of New Year's (whatever year that wuz... uhhh... subtract two from... Nevermind.), Ariya being this tiny little infant, with those tiny little infant clenched baby fists, she's asleep on the couch while we're watching that nine inch nails video compilation that Todd got for Andrea... She wuz so tiny. In her world so much has changed. (Well, Ariya, your first New Year's wuz spent sleeping on Andrea's couch while Trent Reznor waited to get ground up in a torture chair. A child of the nineties!)

Jesus, these rants of mine are getting more and more fucking stream-of-conciousness... Wish I had something fabulous to write about. Love, madness, travel, sex, drugs, rock and bla bla, you know. Something new. Better.

Oh yeah, don't know how I forgot this; I got shot today. Guy pulled a gun on me at the bus loop and shot at me. Grazed my left arm. Bloody mess. I thanked him. It broke up the monotony of my existance for a little while. (Non-life-threatening gun shot wounds are sexy.) Didn't bother going to emergency, that's fer sissies. Some sexy doe-eyed damsel saw the whole thing, (lovers' quarrel, she being the lover, me being the quarrel... ) took me back to her darling apartment and tended to my wound. Candles lit, dark... and she's going "poor baby, my darling... oh you poor thing" and cooing over me in this sweet accent... I played it up of course, wincing as she pulled the clothes off my bloodied body... I'll just say love heals all wounds. And pain enhances love. (euphimisms...)
I never caught her name... A damn shame, since I may desire her, uh, company again sometime...

Ah well, alone again.