greygirlbeast (greygirlbeast) wrote,
greygirlbeast
greygirlbeast

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And ask the sky and ask the sky...

This morning, or afternoon, as it does appear to now be afternoon, I am not entirely sure how or why I wound up getting somewhat drunk on black and tans at The Vortex late last night when I'd only meant to have a cup of Starbuck's swill...er, I mean coffee. Blame Ms. Lee. Especially since she seems to hold her liquor better than I do. We were talking about chakras and insanity, ethneogens, drag queens and Dragon*Con, sex and magick, and all of a sudden I was too drunk to walk home. She had to call Jim and Spooky to come and get us. In all fairness, though, yesterday must stand forever as one of the most perplexing, trying, and utterly inane excuses for a day that I've yet to have to live through. And now my head hurts, and I recall doing some sort of Nebari battle cry on the front porch at ohmygodthirty in the a.m. and it's a wonder no one called the cops, so that must be why my throat hurts. Now I'm trying to write out the tangle in my head, so that, hopefully, I can write some actual prose later today, because I sure as hell didn't get jack shit written yesterday (thank you very much, She Whose Name Will Never Be Spoken Here Again, amen, amen).

Proceed to the end of the beginning of the New Age of Me. Do not pass go. Do not collect two hundred dollars.

I'm sober now, and I have this need to sort through a number of "truths," so that later on, when the next dark day comes (as it surely will), I can look at this and try a little harder not to lose my shit. For instance, on the one hand, I seem to be a very good judge of people, but on the other, I have an astounding talent for befriending and trusting wolves in sheeps' clothing, finks, liars, weasels, stealth psychopaths, and pond scum. You know who you are, and you know who you aren't. Or maybe you don't, but it's not my problem anymore.

Sometimes, as Thomas Covenant reminded us, infections have to be cut out. Or, as Oatsie Mangehand would say, "It's only the next thing, it's not the last thing. Let's get through this, fellow."

For example. Somehow, no matter how many times you find yourself frelled up the ass by carelessly accumulated falsehoods masquerading as longtime friendships, cynicism and isolationism are still cop outs.

I could go on and on and on and the maudlin display might never end. But my head is killing me. And I really do have to write today; Spooky has to deal with eBay, tend to the grouchy, diabetic cat, feed the hamster, clean the house, fix the toilet, ad infinitum, but I have to write. Grateful thanks to those who helped us through yesterday and will help us through today and tomorrow. Now...where's my pointy stick? Move along. There's nothing here to see.
Tags: beer, friends, shitheels
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