WELCOME TO FUCK
Tonight was "get drunk and try to do all those fucking papers you've been avoiding for the previous three months of your life" night.
So here I am, guzzling Crown Royal and cola, knee deep in shit, observing the beautiful chaos known as procrastination; i.e., probably 200 pieces of loose-leaf papyrus, half-empty glass of wine, empty can of diet mountain dew, glass of said whiskey and coke, ashtray choking on itself, ashes everywhere (because I still haven't perfected the art of pressing my cigarettes along the brim of said ashtray), open books, black eyes, and one hell of a dirty kitchen.
However, I revel in these times. Dead are the nonexistent days of me waking up at 7, pulling a 9-5. It never happened, and it never will. I refuse to become responsible. Let responsibility get on it's fucking knees for me. I'm not catering to that whore of an ideology. Fuck that.
I told my professor today that I recently went to the doctor office to get a physical exam, which resulted in him discovering a tumor on my right thigh. "Can I have an extension on my paper, Prof. Grimm? I've been all caught up in travelling back and forth to the hospital these past few days, and have been consumed with the fear of me dying!" He gave it to me.
Is that ethical? Not only did he give it to me, but also excused my four recent absences as long as I give him a doctor's note. My mother's a psychologist with plenty of medical stationary.
I'm a piece of shit who needs a reality check concerning my inability to go on like this.
Truth be told, those four absences were a direct result of too much booze and too many cigarettes with my best friend NewBomb. Yes. I'm a piece of shit. This is my current status...it'll take a few minutes (which really doesn't matter because this is a journal, not a "living mediam") so hold on.
Here we go...distorted like my fucking disposition.
And a swig for Prof. Grimm for buying my lies.
Sadly enough, those pictures were honestly taken two minutes ago (okay, well like five. They had to be uploaded) and that's my current fucking state. I just want to keep on writing and writing because I'm feeling all drunk and accomplished, but I should probably part ways here.
If you're still reading, you're a goddamned winner in my digest.
Geoffrey
Tonight was "get drunk and try to do all those fucking papers you've been avoiding for the previous three months of your life" night.
So here I am, guzzling Crown Royal and cola, knee deep in shit, observing the beautiful chaos known as procrastination; i.e., probably 200 pieces of loose-leaf papyrus, half-empty glass of wine, empty can of diet mountain dew, glass of said whiskey and coke, ashtray choking on itself, ashes everywhere (because I still haven't perfected the art of pressing my cigarettes along the brim of said ashtray), open books, black eyes, and one hell of a dirty kitchen.
However, I revel in these times. Dead are the nonexistent days of me waking up at 7, pulling a 9-5. It never happened, and it never will. I refuse to become responsible. Let responsibility get on it's fucking knees for me. I'm not catering to that whore of an ideology. Fuck that.
I told my professor today that I recently went to the doctor office to get a physical exam, which resulted in him discovering a tumor on my right thigh. "Can I have an extension on my paper, Prof. Grimm? I've been all caught up in travelling back and forth to the hospital these past few days, and have been consumed with the fear of me dying!" He gave it to me.
Is that ethical? Not only did he give it to me, but also excused my four recent absences as long as I give him a doctor's note. My mother's a psychologist with plenty of medical stationary.
I'm a piece of shit who needs a reality check concerning my inability to go on like this.
Truth be told, those four absences were a direct result of too much booze and too many cigarettes with my best friend NewBomb. Yes. I'm a piece of shit. This is my current status...it'll take a few minutes (which really doesn't matter because this is a journal, not a "living mediam") so hold on.
Here we go...distorted like my fucking disposition.
And a swig for Prof. Grimm for buying my lies.
Sadly enough, those pictures were honestly taken two minutes ago (okay, well like five. They had to be uploaded) and that's my current fucking state. I just want to keep on writing and writing because I'm feeling all drunk and accomplished, but I should probably part ways here.
If you're still reading, you're a goddamned winner in my digest.
Geoffrey
VIEW 14 of 14 COMMENTS
I do recommend doing a study abroad course. I went to England for 4 months, it was brilliant.
Good luck on those papers.
the wind dies down, the setting sun
crochets the clouds with yarn so fine
and fills the oceans with red wine
the trees the sky the forest fair
bring a flavor to the air
i raise my gass and in a while
you answer with a secret smile
an airborne leaf that landed near
has carried dionysus here
he'll slip away but only when
he sees our glasses filled again