At least I had the last three days.

Well, shit yo.
I just fell back into the same routine.
This is bad, terrible even.
I'm going to get destroyed even harder the 2nd time.
And the 1st time wasn't pretty.
I was really sick for a 14 hour period.
I called in sick for work and everything.
But then by 7, felt absolutely fine.
I have nothing great to talk about.
I'm worried about the future.
I'm hoping we'll talk about it or something.
But it's never a good time to talk.
Oh so fucking worried.

That was a mistake.
But it made me happy.
Having him so close.
I really fucked myself on that one.
Fuck.

IM NOT OKAY.
I just want him to hug me.
Which is fucking sad.
aww fuck.
Cry.
Lose it.
Cry.

I would do anything to take yesterday back.
The morning went pretty well.
I woke up at 9, started drinking.
I watched a debate between Obama and Clinton.
By noon I was pretty drunk and all the roommates were around.
I decided to get my laundry on the go.
I figured I had 3 hours because he doesn't usually get out of bed until then.
The discussion at Charlie's was lots of fun.
I was talking politics, all drunk and full of fire with a regular.
Then I had some pot around 2, bad idea.
Then he walked through the door, fucking early bastard.
We played a game of pool in total silence, I started drinking faster.
We left the bar to get the laundry and I said something.
Something like, what is it you want from me? Was that a fun game of pool to you?
Then we talked and I definitely didn't say everything I had to say
And then I cried, and cried, and cried, from 230 530.
He sat there and watched me, and I cried.
I couldn't stop.
He said he would leave, but I didn't want him to leave.
Because I like being around him but being around him made me cry more.
It was fucking awful, I've never felt so exposed.
I guess crying for 3 hours none stop is exhausting.
He walked me home and I passed out immediately.
4 hours later I woke up, definitely still drunk.
I had a poutine and went to Charlie's for more beer.
I was watching the CBC for a while.
Then people showed up and I sat there.
Every once and a while going to the bathroom to cry.
I wish I could erase that whole day.
Obviously this isn't just about what's his face.
I think I need this, this huge depression once a year.
Or maybe I'm a foolish child in love.
And there we fucking have it.
I think today I will rent some videos.

Must stop writing in blog hammered.

This has to end.
Soon.
Sometimes.
I have a hard time breathing.
And I know.
I'm doing it to myself.
My stomach hurts.
You know that feeling?
Sadness has overcome your stomach.
You have no control.
You feel so empty and deserted.
It scares me.
The no food and too much booze diet.
Is giving me shits.
I feel 100% gross.
And terrified of being alone.

Well that was fucking embarrassing.
Who the fuck does that shit?
Crying your face off at your local bar.
Completely flying off the handle in front of strangers.
Dave must think I'm utterly insane.
All this for nothing.
Julia always says I throw all of myself into everything I do.
Which is true, but what might sound positive, can be quite negative.
But I'm going to keep it up.
If anyone feels like binge drinking for the next 3 weeks.
Call me, but I will definitely cry and talk about the same bullshit all night.
I know, attractive offer eh?

I'm depressed.
Bring on the 8 packs of Dry Ice.

I miss you so much I want to vomit.
Fuck.

Here I go again.
The plans have been laid out.
I'm going on the bus trip again.
Savannah will be my partner in crime.
I'm going to try and save way more money this time.
I want to go balls out on this trip.
Stay at more hostels.
Drink a bunch.
Rent lockers.
This time around I have it more figured out.
I'm going to document the following before leaving.
Trader Joe's.
Public libraries.
Hostels.
Cheap hotels.
Laundry mats.
Tourist info spots.
I want to do this thing 100% right this time.
The leaving date is last week of June.
I need to save more of my paycheques though.
I hate to say it, but it might be time to return to Faxe.
I could go back to the old 15 year old trick, plug your nose when you take a drink.
I'll figure something out.
No more eating out.
I'm not buying anyone anything.
I'm not giving anyone anything.
I don't want to be a cheap bitch, but it needs to be done.
One pack of smokes for 2 days.
2 beer at the bar maximum.
No more cabs to work.
I hate saving money.
I like my cushy lifestyle.
But it's for the good of the summer.
I'm almost positive my tax return and my vacation pay might be enough.
Maybe.
I need a new pack back, no more sore back and shoulders.
I need a digital camera, no missing a perfect moment.
I need better footwear, no more weird foot fungus mid way through my trip.
I think it'll be a total eastern seaboard trip.
All the way down to Florida.
Across New Orleans, Texas to San Diego.
Up from California to Portland.
Through the mid-west, stopping in a Mary's.
This means a return to Chicago, but that's alright.
I think Savannah and I could make an awesome team.
We lived together for a year and mostly just fought over dishes.
She's leaving the planning up to me, which I enjoy.
It's March!
I'm excited.