I just woke up from a nap, disoriented as hell and I can't remember what I dreamed about. But it put me in a mood. I had Great Plans to drink and come up with some witty and/or angst-filled poetry. OR! Or I could watch a movie. One that has great meaning and will leave me feeling either fulfilled or disturbed (either way, it would be worth it). Tonight was going to be one of the great alone nights. One of those heart-wrenching or life-shaking or even eye-opening but definitely alcohol-induced nights for me and me alone. But then I napped.
Why did I nap? I wasn't even really that tired. The hope fell away and now I'm trying. I'm really trying to get it back. See? I've got the first drink washed down, which is why my fingers even started to type this nonsense.
Tonight held the promise of being extraordinary, but the ordinary ho hum broke in while I was sleeping. Oh, that mother fucker. This calls for another drink. Everything calls for another drink. The end of the last drink calls for another drink. Oh, to be able to quit my job and spend the rest of my life on drunken adventures and sleeping in. How much poetry do you think would be written? Well, I'll tell you. Lots. I think I am feeling my Great Plans for tonight returning.