sick

Drunk again. It feels good. There is no pain, neither physical nor psychological. I know that tomorrow when I wake up my back will hurt like Hell, as always, and the crippling loneliness will be back. But for now I just have a warm glow that makes it all go away.

Yeah, so I'm an alcoholic. Screw off!

I'm now brave enough to request honest opinions. You all know what I think of my own poetry; I'm my own worst critic. I think it's over-sentimental doggerel. It's adolescent. My imagery is unoriginal. I'm the very reason I hate so many people who write poetry. But what do you all think?

I think I'll put it all together in a book. I also think that I'm going to put my entire correspondence with MathGirl into a book. I've kept nearly every letter I've ever sent or received, though I did lose a month or two's worth when I lost my university mail account. Is it creepy that I've kept all this?

Damn, I need to sleep.