When I woke in the morning I found my that cheeks were still wet from tears: crying in my sleep I guess, like a little fag with a skinned knee. Judgmental motherfuckers. Nothing like a party, to make you feel totally utterly alone, and also like stringing yourself up by your boot-laces. Well, at least I'm still drunk, thank heaven for small mercies.

I kinda figured that being open and honest would be enough. but it seems that it isn't and I guess that it ain't. Kinda funny, I honestly think I've done hellva lot of very cool stuff, I've done a lot of interesting things that many of these people couldn't even begin to start to imagine, and yet they still somehow manage to make me feel like goddamn fucking worm.

Tried to apologize to Cat, figured she's no stranger to “Sorry”, that she'd understand. It didn't go as well as I'd hoped.

Slowly learning who my friends are.

I like to think that my friends are all, in general, well, they're good cunts, they're solid, they fly straight as an arrow in the absence of gravity. By process of attrition and erosion all the chaff gets chipped, inevitably away, you quickly learn who you can rely on, who the people left remaining that are worth paying any attention to.

I honestly don't think I could survive without such a solid base of bedrock. What would I do? I couldn't imagine. I tend to give people too much off the benefit of the doubt in the first place. I mean, I'm pretty open: I've told my boss about my drug use. In fact... if it was a problem I think I'd just goddamn fucking quit... I actually suggested we do mescaline as a team building exercise. I tend to think that everyone has pretty much the same liberal kinda attitudes that I do, I guess I'm kinda privileged in that sense, cos when I encounter conservatism I'm actually genuinely shocked. Like what the fuck. Go back to 1634 or whatever. I honestly thought you people died out with the inquisition or the hand crafted stone flint spear.

I like think that I am capable of very, very much, and this shit sounds to me like challenge. I mean: I'll race you to the finish you bastards. Cunts trying to tell me I've done too many drugs, ah, what is it you do again? And what exactly have you accomplished? When it gets down to brass tacks the proof is in the powdered glass I'll make you swallow, and I hope to God it cuts you up.

A bit of drunken fucking arc welding, that'll make me feel better about myself.