I Hate Myself And I Want To Die (but I'm not an emo)
February 28th 2007 01:32
Kurt Cobain said that (sans emo reference). Now, I'm not suicidal and I don't (really) hate myself, but that's how I felt this morning.
Recap: 2 straight nights of ballistic drinking. I haven't been cut off from a bar for a long time. Well, I hadn't before last night. Whoops. Oh, and stinking hangover? Check.
The party was... well, I think it was good. I wasn't exactly in a thinking mood (read: i was hammered), so the party may very well have been shit with just me spastic dancing... who knows.
Well, I know the end of the night was shit. I somehow decided that I had to leave at around 12.30. It was sort of a spontaneous decision... 12.30 rocked around and I said (and I don't know why) "I can't be here anymore, I have to go" and left the club. No one was around to let me jump in on their cab ride (i was broke), so I decided to walk back to college. Which takes around an hour and a half. Whoops.
So I get back, and the girlies I was meant to go smoke some buds with have all gone to sleep, my bong has gone AWOL, and I'm pissed off at everything. Yeah, I had a great end to the night.
We met a Puerto Rican architect the other day. He was blind drunk and bought us drinks (we bought him some too), and soon we were blind drunk too. He said some pretty profound stuff though. I can't remember all of it, but one thing he did say stuck with me.
"It takes death to make you a nice person."
Everyone is selfish. I am, you are, your husband, your wife, you brothers and sisters, your parents, everyone. It's part of being human. But, as we approach the end of our short time on this pretty green and blue planet, we start to think about how we will be remembered; our legacy, if you will. Everyone wants someone to say something nice at their funeral, and no one wants to be remembered as an asshole. So, as we realize our mortality and our time grows short, we make efforts to be nice; to help people; to try and take back a bit of the bullshit we tossed around when we were the invulnerable kings of our own lives and destinies, and not death's next conquest.
What does that have to do with me, and is this just a random tangent? No, dear readers, this annecdote is very relevant. I had (penty of) time to think during my long walk, and I realized that maybe some good did come of my druggie drunk ass lifestyle. I make every effort to live each day like it might be my last, because it might. I might get run over by a forklift at work tonight, or mugged on the walk there (both have almost happened a few times... well, actually, I almost get run over by forkies on a daily basis), or I might get PMA in the pills I will in all likelyhood take this weekend. And since each day is my last... what's the point in being a dick? I always make efforts to be nice, because that is how I want to be remembered. I'm pretty sure I'm not going to have a slow and graceful decline into old age and eternal slumber, and I'm pretty sure my death won't be a pleasant one (if indeed a pleasant death is possible). I don't have the luxury of knowing I can be a dick now and make up for it when I'm dying in 40 years time, or whatever. I try not to backstab, I try not to deceive (too much), and I try to be the best person I can, because I probably won't have the time to take it all back.
So take heed, reader. Your humble junkie may be the most honest person you know.
Or, I could just be fucking hung over and feeling sick as a dog and trying to make myself feel better. That judgement is up to you.
Recap: 2 straight nights of ballistic drinking. I haven't been cut off from a bar for a long time. Well, I hadn't before last night. Whoops. Oh, and stinking hangover? Check.
The party was... well, I think it was good. I wasn't exactly in a thinking mood (read: i was hammered), so the party may very well have been shit with just me spastic dancing... who knows.
Well, I know the end of the night was shit. I somehow decided that I had to leave at around 12.30. It was sort of a spontaneous decision... 12.30 rocked around and I said (and I don't know why) "I can't be here anymore, I have to go" and left the club. No one was around to let me jump in on their cab ride (i was broke), so I decided to walk back to college. Which takes around an hour and a half. Whoops.
So I get back, and the girlies I was meant to go smoke some buds with have all gone to sleep, my bong has gone AWOL, and I'm pissed off at everything. Yeah, I had a great end to the night.
We met a Puerto Rican architect the other day. He was blind drunk and bought us drinks (we bought him some too), and soon we were blind drunk too. He said some pretty profound stuff though. I can't remember all of it, but one thing he did say stuck with me.
"It takes death to make you a nice person."
Everyone is selfish. I am, you are, your husband, your wife, you brothers and sisters, your parents, everyone. It's part of being human. But, as we approach the end of our short time on this pretty green and blue planet, we start to think about how we will be remembered; our legacy, if you will. Everyone wants someone to say something nice at their funeral, and no one wants to be remembered as an asshole. So, as we realize our mortality and our time grows short, we make efforts to be nice; to help people; to try and take back a bit of the bullshit we tossed around when we were the invulnerable kings of our own lives and destinies, and not death's next conquest.
What does that have to do with me, and is this just a random tangent? No, dear readers, this annecdote is very relevant. I had (penty of) time to think during my long walk, and I realized that maybe some good did come of my druggie drunk ass lifestyle. I make every effort to live each day like it might be my last, because it might. I might get run over by a forklift at work tonight, or mugged on the walk there (both have almost happened a few times... well, actually, I almost get run over by forkies on a daily basis), or I might get PMA in the pills I will in all likelyhood take this weekend. And since each day is my last... what's the point in being a dick? I always make efforts to be nice, because that is how I want to be remembered. I'm pretty sure I'm not going to have a slow and graceful decline into old age and eternal slumber, and I'm pretty sure my death won't be a pleasant one (if indeed a pleasant death is possible). I don't have the luxury of knowing I can be a dick now and make up for it when I'm dying in 40 years time, or whatever. I try not to backstab, I try not to deceive (too much), and I try to be the best person I can, because I probably won't have the time to take it all back.
So take heed, reader. Your humble junkie may be the most honest person you know.
Or, I could just be fucking hung over and feeling sick as a dog and trying to make myself feel better. That judgement is up to you.
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