Drunkie bastard

I'm drunk.  It's fun to pretend to write when I'm drunk especially when I'm not really pretending and am actually writing.  Look at me, no hands!  What a lie.  Fingers and hands are included in the creation of this post but not much brain.  Some eye, but they're half-opened or closed depending if you're a pessimist or an optimist.  I'm the former, which in itself seems to be an optimistic statement.  Wouldn't I choose to put optimist before pessimist if I was truly a pessimist?  Or is my pessimism so ingrained that it's the first thing I choose to be?  Pshaw.

What to do what to do what to do.  I'm typing with one eye open.  Oh oh, both eyes closed now.  I feel like Stevie Wonder excpet aI'm not making music or sense.  I aimon't fixing that typo that I felt making.  That I made feeling.  that I know I made.

Holy crap Im drunk but I only really had six beers.  Maybe seven.  It's funny that's all it takes to get me hammered nowadays.  Hell maybe that's all it would take me to get hammered in my youth too, but I chose not to stop drinking.  This may or may not be true.  Most things are either.

Post Shunty update, my parents and brother accepted my apology like it was "ain't no thang" (verbatim from Rip).  I'm glad I apologized and I'm glad I felt bad about being bitchy too them.  I thank the peeps who mentioned that I had every right to be pissed off, but that wasn't really my issue.  I think it was the conscious decision I made to SIT WITH the pissed-offedness that bothered me the most.  It didn't feel good and I didn't feel good hanging on to it.  So why'd I do it.

Eh fuck it who cares. I'm drunk, blindly typing and moving my head as if I was in fact a blind musician.  It's kind of fun really.  I am in a qwerty groove.  UGH.  Did I really just type something that awful?? Yikes.  Want to delete but will not just to punish myself.  ACK!  There it is again! ACK!  When did I start sounding like Cathy??   ACK! ACK! It's fun to type caps lock without holding caps lock.

Answer:  Asparagus.  Question:  What did my fart just smell like?  Trebek's a douche.

Oy vey.  I have to go to work tomorrow and I don't want to.  Summer Fridays absolutely rock but the Fridays I have to work absolutely don't.  Tomorrow's worse because my boss will be there, too.  We usually have opposite Fridays off and I prefer it this way.  Again the bitch is nice, but he's (did I just call him a bitch?) annoying me lately.  The last thing I want to do is spend a quiet day with him.  Blech.  Blerg. Barf. Beatrice.

Is there anything else I need to share?  I don't think so.  I think I'll stop typing some time in the near future.  Now.  Nope, soon. 

I can't stop thinking in a way that will make me stop typing and stop reading and start punctuating maybe to stop...

Oooo.  Stopping.