somuchrain

What the last journal entry really meant was that I'm just so sick of this. When I first moved out of my father's house and started and uni. it was all so romantic, the pseudo-bohemian life-style, the being broke and eating scraps, wasting away and smoking constantly, drinking oblivion and putting anything up my nose that could be crushed. Now I'm just fucking sick of it. I'm sick of waking up every morning in the tip of a flat with a hangover and far too few hours of sleep, with crust around my eyes and nostrils to force myself, staggering against the sun, to work. I'm sick of the only hours I have to myself, to work at what I want, are such exhausted hours that all I can do is drink coffee and whiskey and scramble a few lines together that will need so much editing they wont bear anything of their first form by the time, months later, that I've finally fucking finished a project. I'm sick of not being able to get up to piss at night without stumbling over bottles and knocking over-full ashtrays onto the sodding floor. I'm sick of never feeling awake, no matter what I put into me to wake up, of never feeling really happy, no matter what I put into me to feel happy, of never feeling secure. I'm sick of living, not even check to check, but of fucking relying on getting a few quarters in tips at Quiznos so I can buy a little bottle of Georgi to at least feel a bit more slippery or something. I'm sick of decisions like to overdraft my bank account (and incur to $35 fee) for a pack of cigarettes actually making sense. I just want a little more money, just a little less fear and exhaustion, a little more time with the girl and dog that I love, a little more health, some fewer cigarettes and bottles. I want to actually accomplish the things I know I can if only I had the time. I want a job that isn't making or handing food to people for the first time in my life. I want to be able to come home at night and be able to buy groceries so I don't need to just eat fucking brown rice again. I want to be able to sit on a couch, not crouch on my bed, to watch a movie. I want a bookshelf, not an milk crate. I want something new, not second hand. I want to be able to actually write that thing I've been thinking about for months, not just take constant notes because I've not the time nor the money to do proper research. I want a fucking white picket fence.