fantastic. that's all.
i fell for
your coffee eyes
your half-and-half
white lies
okay... so i've only had one, maybe two, shots of vanilla-flavored bacardi rum, balanced out with orange-pineapple juice and two hotdogs. why am i like this? i am even having trouble typing.
my reaction to this situation: i either need to stop drinking entirely, or make a habit of it.
i feel sometimes that i'm doomed to a lifetime of drunkenness because i have a nephew and my given name is charles. that's right. i'm uncle charlie.
i know who will be disappointed to read about my being under the influence. i know because she expressed disappointment at three heinekens in someone else. i know because of who she is. i know, because of who i am and how she sees me.
but she's already disappointed.
i'm sorry, i am. not about the bacardi rum, vanilla flavored, mixed with orange/pineapple. i'm sorry about the real cause of disappointment. i'm sorry that i never tried. i'm sorry that i didn't show you beautiful things. i'm sorry that i didn't change. i'm sorry.
will everyone else be ignoring this simply because i'm inebriated? i hope not. i'm not so inebriated as to be saying things that i don't mean. i'm only drunk enough to tell the truth.
why can't i tell the truth otherwise? because i'm afraid. i don't know what i'm afraid of. i was afraid of becoming involved last fall. i've always been afraid of involvement.
i'm afraid of confrontation? i'm afraid of commitment?
yes.
my parents were not the ideal demonstration of love.
but that's enough for now. what would it be if i actually shared enough for you to understand? it would be too much. i don't know if that makes sense -- i am not a work of fiction, after all -- but that's how i feel at the moment, and that is enough.
snarkymarky, keep the li'l peanut content, and show him/her/it what it's all about. that's what really matters.
okay, i really can't type now. later.