I talk out of my ass half of the time. I need to learn that not everything needs an explanation. Moving on.
Last night. Drunk to sleep, and for taste. Found myself rather disliking the taste of the alcohol, which is unusual. Consequentially gulped it down and stopped drinking quite soon. The speed is likely the only reason I felt anything at all. The furthest I got was to that state of drunken clarity: Everything was visible, but I felt a profound sense of apathy towards all of the things I saw. All it really did was put an edge on things. Make me think more about things I normally repress.
That state stayed for a while, though I think that was mostly just me lingering on things.
Decided to drown thoughts by making another mix. This is becoming one of my primary coping mechanisms. It's definitely the healthiest one I've got, so I'm trying to nurture it and push it further and further towards the front of the list. One more hurdle and it's there. And all will be well. Excepting when I rush down the line for more effective things. But. Well. I can find more mechanisms with time. The point now is to nurture the good one that I have.
Oh fuck. Yeah. So I went through my mp3s for songs about sleep. I'll go through my albums tonight, most likely.
I need to make mixes for other people, and mail the one I have made, but I'm feeling a bit too egocentric and mopey lately, to be frank.
Then I went off and read Lolita until the words ceased to make sense. Fell asleep around 10am from sheer exhaustion.
That was my night. Books and music and far too much thinking.
It's possible that if I could bring myself to talk about what I was thinking about this would be a much more interesting entry, but. I still can't manage to do that. And probably never will, considering my track record. I'm good at keeping secrets, if nothing else.
revoless.
6:43 p.m.
August 12, 2003.
Listening to: nothing.
'It's not what you're like, it's what you like.' or After staying up all night