Amazing

I come home from work, crawl into bed and have decided that the bed is where I'm gonna spend the rest of my life 8or at least the night) and then my roomie comes out and says "you want to gt a drink?" and I just hear myself say "yeah, sure." Not what I had in mind for the evening. Strange night, but fun. Managed to get incredibly drunk. I think. I don't really remember. I do remember that one of my oldest friends girlfriend got a wee bit too "friendly" if you catch my drift. Could become a problem.

Yeah. Fun night. Me and S wore matching outfits.

The thing is... I don't want going out and getting drunk to be my way out of this, because it is so easy to hurt yourself and to hurt others under those circumstances. And it's tacky. So I don't want to do it too much. Getting drunk and going out is supposed to be fun in itself. Some kind of spice in life, something that elevates your life a bit. Not something that you do to just block out misery.

We'll see how the day goes. I'm sure I'll feel like shit, but I'll live. I always do. And that's the name of the game, isn't it? To live. To survive.

But what I don't understand is how you can get this incredibly hung over from maybe 4 beers, some whisky and some kind of shot when you didn't get hung over AT ALL from half a bottle of vodka? I blame Jim Beam. *shudders*

Time to go to work. Just gonna freshen up first. And stop thinking. I really got to stop thinking. And I really got to stop remembering. Really.

Fuck.