It seems I am missing out on life, choosing to sleep it away instead. Or, it is not much of a choice, but a body’s demands. Alcohol and depression have exhausted me into complete submission. The Dream King wants me as his mistress, and I can’t resist his advances. If it wasn’t for a panic attack that served as an alarm clock, I would still be in bed. Looking over my schedule, I see that I have not missed much. Marissa had invited me to a barbecue she was having to celebrate her son’s birthday, but I have a feeling the invitation was extended only out of courtesy, and to have a respectable turnout.
A boy I recently met named Josh, accuses me of being cruel, and while I always thought this was the case, it sounds so strange when someone confirms my worst suspicions. And while I felt there was something almost negligible between us, something on the verge of forming itself into a force that could be called romance, I cannot have someone say such things about me, with no hesitation, and total conviction. All of this frustration with men and life can be hidden with alcohol, at least temporarily. So, it is what I do with shame and remorse.