last night

so my friend told me he likes to get drunk alone sometimes
he said it was liberating

so i sat down with a box of wine that was a house warming present from my old roomie

the first glass was normal
the second and third pretty fine
then i realized i was out of food and getting drunk fast
so i had to keep drinking to forget the hunger

then next thing you know

im doing bumps of drugs off my hand
watching brokeback mountain
and suddenly i felt like shit

it could have been the drugs i shouldn't have done alone
it could have been ang lee fucking with my head
but i think it was the cheap wine

in fact, safe to say, it was the cheap wine

but ang lee didn't help at all

suddenly it was 4am and i had written about 8 pages of bad poetry

exhibit a:

i kiss red wine with blood stained lips
i am a woman
and i will make love to a crocodile
and i have
fucked you.

(i don't even know why those last sentences were written...)

exhibit b:

you have to make a choice
otherwise its
(facing up to an ultimatum)
its a choice we make in order
to lose nothing
to not lose love
to lose love
in order to gain nothing

(yeah and that doesn't make a lick of sense)

and those are the best bits.
makes me wonder... what's more pathetic... that "poetry" or the fact i was drunk alone?

so i learned a lesson that i will carry with me for my whole life:

do not get drunk alone.
and if you must, drink really really nice wine that you can't afford, don't pick up a pen (or the vial of drugs on the table next to you, for that matter) and do not, under any circumstance, watch ang lee anything.