The Late Night Philosophies

According to this health class, binge drinking is technically having five or more drinks for men or four or more for women. That’s really low. Technically speaking, I’m screwed. Four or five is how much I drink on a quiet night when I just wanna lay around and relax. I mean, I usually reach that two or three times a week when I have alcohol, and since I hadn’t had any for a while and got a few bottles the same day I got my ring, I’ve been drinking every night for a week. Not a lot, just enough to chill. I don’t consider myself a heavy drinker because I rarely get really drunk, but I guess I’m legally a serial binge drinker? Hmm, the law’s definition of things are so strange and arbitrary.

Maybe I’ll just be a hermit; live alone and shun the world, and die alone in the cold and the dark. No one will ever know. No one will ever care.

I got really sick for more than a week after Spring break. It messed up my lungs and throat and was the first time in a long time an illness actually kept me in bed (or on the couch). Anyway, now that I’m better, I’ve realized that I can no longer whoop (which is bad because I’m an Aggie and that’s our thing) or laugh at the same pitch that I used to. I mean literally can’t. When I try nothing comes out but the rasp of air. It’s like if my vocal chords can’t reach those high notes anymore, and don’t even get me started on what it’s like when I try to sing. It’s strange, especially when I try to laugh and just hear rasping and choking instead. I hope this isn’t permanent.

Super fucking intense late-night deja vu is the craziest kind of deja vu, and is also fucking strange. Like what the fuck?! Have I experienced this before? This exact sequence of images with a certain song in the background. Have I forgotten something? Or is it a prophecy of things to come? Or did I just suddenly remember what happened literally one second before and trick myself into feeling like things are repeating? Strange, very strange…

I’ve been sick all week and eating lots of sick-people foods. Soups, ramens, pot pies. Easy things to swallow because my throat’s been pretty messed up. I went shopping a little while ago to for more meds and easy foods. Shopping on a Friday night was a mistake. I walked my grumpier-than-usual ass into the store alone, haphazardly dressed and desperately sucking on cough drops. The whole place was filled with happy looking couples buying food and booze for their weekend. Together. Happy. Or groups of people in party cloths stocking up on beer and wine for the night ahead. Bah Humbug! I don’t know why but seeing a bunch of people happy lately is really getting on my nerves. If anyone needs me for anything I’ll be in my hermit’s cave plotting and scheming ways to make the world unhappy! Muahahahahahaha *evil laugh fades into choking cough as I fade into the shadows*

Not being able to express emotion. Not with words, or actions, or facial expressions. Not being able to show the world how you feel. At all. What. The. FUUUUUCK?!

I decided to stop being a complete hermit for a few minutes and went to text a friend I haven’t seen all semester. Then realized that the last… several times I tried to start a conversation it went unanswered. Then I remembered that the only times she really talks to me anymore are when she moves to a new town and/or get’s abandoned by all her other friends. Like when she transferred here from our hometown. Right. Never mind. Sorry, I forgot that I only exist when you have literally no one else to interact with. My bad. Should have known better.

Sometimes (most of the time) it feels like I’m in this world but not a part of it. Like I’m an observer trapped on the outside looking in. It seems like no matter what I do or how hard I try I’m still an outsider, my actions still make little or no difference in the world or to the people around me. As if nothing I do matters, or ever could matter, because nothing and no one would be any different whether I did something grand and amazing every single day or simply faded away at this very moment. Nothing would change and no one would care. Hell, maybe no one would even notice. Sometimes it feels like if I’m not standing directly in front of someone commanding their attention I disappear from their minds completely. If they don’t see me they don’t think of me, and they simply don’t care.

That strange feeling you get when you start to think one of your good friends treats you differently than they treat their other friends, or acts differently when you’re around. And you’re not sure if it’s a good or bad thing, or if it’s even true at all and not just that you’re being paranoid.

Fuck

Naming characters is a bitch. At least for me it is. I believe that names are important and should really fit the character, and also be memorable. I hate using average forgettable names for my characters, the important ones at least. A completely made strange weirdo sci-fi/fantasy style name is almost as bad. It feels so awkward to write a story if you don’t even know the names of your creations, but the names are something that I take ages nit-picking over so no actual writing gets done. It’s a rather vicious cycle. Motherfucker.