June 2nd, Year Three

My paycheck has just arrived, and already I owe it. Money is like loose dirt on a windy day, in my hands. There is the rent I refuse to pay. There is the car that needs to be fixed, after I ran into a fire hydrant. But officer, I was under the influence, surely you’ll make an exception for an intoxicated darling.

I fool no one at all. Those things will never get paid. Instead, let the money be spent on useless things, that are immediately gratifying. I have no intention on abstaining from drinking, and I have hit more dignified things, like other cars. That fire hydrant dressed in red, was asking for it. That is the color of a thing that wants to get fucked.

The truth is, I hate alcohol. I hate the company I keep even more. I drink, because I must. It keeps me nice. Or is this a death wish? Driving while inebriated isn’t remotely funny, unless one is videotaped, and survives. I make light of what terrifies me, which is most everything one can think of, and a few things that haven’t made their way to the surface yet. I want to stop myself. I want someone to stop me. To redirect me.

A few weeks ago, I was approached by law enforcement, as I drank in my car with a man whose name I can’t be bothered to remember. I thought to myself, so this is it, life turns around. Yet, the police officer did nothing, while thinking he was doing me a favor. Drive home, he said. But I have not found it, I wanted to say. So, help me. Oh, help me.

June 2nd, Year Three

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