(stet asset)

My brain is a long draw off the lost weekend escaping the bats crawled out, fully formed and bloodthirsty, from the cracks of my sunday best (even though they'll be there screaming murder well after i am gone).

I am twenty-six and have been for six days.

That doesn't seem to mean anything to me today. didn't yesterday. and wednesday was just a reason to see my friends together drinking for me and my slayer cake (god bless that fucking pic).

I don't mean to sound down about it. in fact, on my birthday i was elated (a little nervous, perhaps, but nothing evident) and since then the only down i've felt aside from the pressing exhaustion of living life with liquor and smoke guiding me as much as anything sensible was the invariable woe of the anticlimax of a morning when you wonder if you blacked out or just gave up too many conversations.

I'm leaning towards the latter, though i'm shit sure i'm grey on certain things. a little fuzzy.

Hell, i might have just been full-on fucking absent.

But as it is with most years, i feel very much the same. still strangling ambition. still missing my requisite sleep. wondering when i'll ever leap out of this cave and into the world of inconsolable debt. in love and yearning for the sweet smell of her skin against me.

All right then.

I'm pretty goddamn all right. but i can always be better and i will be. this time i feel it. there's too much there looming on the horizon (as if it hasn't been before...sunsabitches all). i've grown too weary of the triumphant failures that could await me in the future.

I want to be somebody, for fuck's sake. and i don't want to be discovered too late.