Between half a bottle of bourbon and my own natural tendency towards histrionics I managed to work myself into quite a state last night. I hate re-reading this stuff, just sitting there and thinking: oh, weak, yet more soapy tears before bedtime, sweet jesus dude harden the fuck up. I'm not sure why I should over-react so much, when I get in a black mood I start twisting things around to the worst angle possible, got a splinter of the snow queen's troll-mirror caught in my eye I guess.

I think I really managed to totally fuck my shoulder at the drinking contest on Friday. Trash talked myself into the upper reaches of the stratosphere and then went ahead and lost.