graceland's Diaryland Diary ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- Wastin' Time Thanksgiving was pretty effing amazing. I can't remember if I wrote about this on here, but the weekend my brother was up here we were out with a good guy friend of mine and he and I were speaking quietly for a bit. We both got the monkeys - the green monkeys, like when you wake up and have bad tummy feeling because you know you did or said something the night before that you shouldn't have? - That feeling hit both of us while we were sitting at the bar and it was completely weird because we weren't doing anything wrong. It was early on a Saturday night, but it just hit us. We both paled. Like I said, it was weird. We started talking about it. And I mentioned that I'd been having the monkeys a lot lately. And then I said, "you know, I keep getting this reoccurring feeling of desperately wanting just to gohome to my parents house and go into my room and hiding in the back of my closet like I used to as a child. Just sit there with my head on my bent knees in the dark for hours. Safe. No one can touch me there. My friend, who normally isn't so deep, told me that I shouldn't ignore that feeling, and if it's been coming up again and again; it's something on my mind and my heart. I should listen to that, he told me. So I went home with the intent of staying until Sunday, even though my brother and friends were working me over to come to Philthy for a party on saturday night. I was staying strong. It was *really* good to be home. It was good in a way that it's never been good before. I started thinking that maybe I could live that. How easy it would be, you know? To return to a small, blue collar town. Drive to the giant grocery store and load a car with groceries. Have a driveway, maybe live by myself in a whole house - not just like, a 500 squ ft. place. Take a job that when you leave there at 4:30PM, you really are finished for the day. You don't come back to work after dinner or work from home. You don't work weekends. You just clock in and clock out. Yeah. That started to look real appealing. But my brother and my friends won out and I found myself sucked punched into putting on the costume, painting my face and attending the party in Philly. And I made witty remarks - I always make witty remarks. Sometimes I wink at the person I'm talking to when I make said remarks. Men love that. Gay or straight, they love the wink. It's saucy. After a short bit of verbally-handjobbing half of the party, I proceeded up to the den, where I attempted to lock myself into the room with about 5 gay men. I needed a respite. I pretty much spent the rest of the evening up there, when after about 4 glasses of wine, I decided I wanted some drugs. Yes, I wanted some drugs. And I know I vowed to give up drugs, but I've changed my mindset on that. I don't need to give up all drugs. Just one. That's the one I wanted on Saturday night, and of course, nobody in that Fisher-Price-My-First Town of Illedelph was holding. They are pathetic. Three people who LIVE there came up to ask me if *I* was holding. I was like, you people LIVE HERE. Know your town, people. Know your dealer. Get it goin'. So I smoked some pot. And some girl came up to smoke and before I let her in, I told her she had to pay the toll. That's classic - it wasn't my pot we were smoking, or my house. "Whatdaya want," she asked. "Whatdaya, got," I shot back, eyebrow raised. One of the guys in the room started choking. "Coke?" I said. Until about 2 hours later, when she was getting ready to leave and I said, "You know what, I'll take one of those pills," and my friend piped in, "Pills? I'll take pills." "Okay," she said. She whips out this packed pill box and her hands are shaking - I swear, she was on something WHACK - and she says, "what do you want?" as she drops some pills on the floor and doesn't even bend to pick them up. "Valium?" I asked. And she gave my friend and I each a pill and left. I took my pill. My friend waited on his. It was shortly after that when I started to feel like the older sister in "16 Candles" on her weddding day. Fantastic. I don't know what the heck that was, but it was FAN-tastic. Fan-fucking-tastic. Elvis was onto something. Anyway, I went back to my brother's house after that. Had a restless night of sleep on his couch due to fear of a mouse and then hightailed it back to the Jack. I knew I should have stayed at my parents house. But you know, everyone has to have a piece of Grace. And I was tired and I just wanted to stop. playing. the. game. It's always about the fucking game, right? Does anyone else get sick of that? The constant contact with people and the "hey, how are you" every fucking day. Sometimes I want to crush those words with my fist. Stamp them out with my foot. I want to learn how to respond to them in 17 languages. Anything to change my own dreaded response of "good," "fine". "Going out tonight? What time?" They can also be annoying questions. Lately, I don't want to go out anymore. I don't want to see the same people. I don't want to meet any new people. I am done. I just didn't want to play the game anymore last week. So I got wasted. And I think that sums it up. 10:54 p.m. - 2005-11-29 ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- |
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