FIBROMYLAGIA-MANIA!

The thing is...

The thing is...

Are you listening?!

Writing inebriated is a strange thing. Your thoughts seem so clear and, finally, unconfused that you want to crawl on top of whatever roof you're living under and proclaim the immutible truths of the universe so at least your neighbors can hear... Or the security guards in your building can...

Of course, then you have to jump a fence and hide, crouched on hot, black tar that sticks to the soles of your shoes, sometimes getting weirdly close to edges but not being afraid, laughing at the state of the world.

All you want to say is that every care you've ever had is not worth it.

And anyone that chases you is doubly ridiculous -- caring about the careless.

***

Before I had fibro I would get drunk and sit on the corner of my apartment building's rooftop, looking down at the cars on Embassy Row, wondering how I was there...

How did I end up in DC?

Cherche la femme and lose her...

...I would sit and drink an Anchor Steam, my legs hanging off to 10 stories down and simply wonder what moved all the people in all those cars to do what they did.

Certainly unhappiness... The scare of death?

I imagined they must be running here or there and not quite of their own volition...

I imagined myself the only one in touch with life and how to live it...

Of course wrong and stupid.

But all things are in drink and good because.

Mixx it!