1:30 in the morning, alone, drinking a raspberry bloody mary (a fairly successful experience, might I add; someone else try it and let me know if I'm crazy), smoking resin, listening to my new Springsteen album. It's true, folks, it really is the little things.
Okay, the second sip wasn't quite as good. Not bad, just...odd. Raspberry and tomato.
KB + OD
by which I mean "until the dock is resurfaced"
and to the tune of seagulls protesting the din of spring's first motorboat
I wonder if it worked out for them in the end
or if KB walked on on her best friend and OD in the corner of the bar
suddenly I realize I'm no longer alone
a Spanish speaking mother and her children, feet upon the planks, words I don't understand
soon enough gone again, and I, alone, meditate on the meaning of all this
Not like physically, "I need a piece of ass" lonely. Actually, I don't do too badly. More like...lonely. Don't take that the wrong way, just being Pete is damn fine, more so every day; it only took three years, but I'm starting to remember how to do this shit again. But it's a beautiful night, really the first nice spring night this year. And I'm pounding away on this keyboard because there's nobody home.
Been a while, life's been hectic y'know...hope to be spending more time around here now that I'm a little bit more settled in. In my mother's house, that is, for the first time in almost seven years (a third of my life, do the math). It's totally Bizarro World, obviously, but it's been pretty damn good. I feel like I'm doing the right thing here, fixing what's broken. And my family life has been...damn broken, for many years.
I slept the whole day through. I do that when I'm depressed, it's one of my personal warning signs, so to speak. I've just had such a shit week, nothing I try to plan seems to work out.
Intellectually, I know that a lot of this is artificial; I'm still in the "coming off the drugs" stage, which fucks with the brain chemicals like you couldn't imagine unless you've had to go through it. But knowing that doesn't help me too bloody much, and it certainly doesn't make it go away.
I drank too much last night. Vastly too much, worlds of too much. I've been drinking too much an awful lot lately, which is very unPetelike behavior. I quit doing speed about a month ago; I worry that I'm just swapping one monkey for another. My roommates are drinking upstairs; I am not. Further, I'm so hung over that it's not even tempting. It's been said that alcohol is the worst drug out there.
I didn't go home today. My mother's gonna kill me. I stayed home (as opposed to going home, those of a certain age will understand) with a couple of close friends, made pasta, played cards, got buzzed. Everything's a tradeoff, y'know?
I've made a lot of new friends this year; good friends, I think. So I'm thankful for that. And for family, defined as: Those people who stand by you even when they know damn good and well you're wrong. I hope y'all remember to be thankful for something too, it's more important than you think. Blessed be.
...and a good morn to arturo and Tiki, who I see are up bright and early on this beautiful, Winter Wonderland-esque (at least here in west Minnesota) Saturday morning. I drank too much last night, and I feel like a happy little family of cats took a happy little piss in my mouth.
and he apparantly likes me very much. At least that was the impression I got when he was going down on me Thursday night, y'dig? This boy, whom we'll call Jeff (because that's his name) has apparantly been eyeing me for a couple months now (which I just found out yesterday). And then this crazy shit happened Thursday, and now I think he thinks I think...you know what I'm getting at here? What a shocker, someone's more involved than Pete is. The scenery and the actors change, the lines remain the same.
I'm awake for no reason, we're not working today. Horseshit weather, went from 70 yesterday to 35 and rainy today. I love Minnesota, you get all the seasons. In any given week.
This new job is something else, man. Working concrete this summer, it's a trip. I haven't done anything that could be called manual labor since I worked on the farm when I was just a little shit. I was not prepared. I've been working with these guys for a week and a half now, and it's like boot camp. Gonna be all I can be with the goddamn construction company. It'll be great if I can stick with it, though, I'm very much looking foreward to being tan, ripped, and rolling in money. But in the interim, I feel like death warmed over. The boss knows I'm having a tough time of it (be hard not to notice my scrawny 130 pound ass huffing and puffing all day), and he tries really hard to give me shit I can handle, but it's still the hardest I've ever worked in my life. I've even got a sunburn, which speaks volumes. I'm a quarter Apache, I don't burn. Last time (and only time) that happened was Woodstock '99, and that was three straight days of 95 degrees and sun.
I will soon be twenty-two years old
which is surely the birthday before infinity
sometimes at night I am afraid
I fear that the years and The Life (tm) and her death
have sapped me of my youth, my fire
Long December can still make me cry
and things like that give me hope