Four Beers

What is four beers? Four beers is enough. Four beers is enough. It's enough to make my head spin. It is enough to make me hit the backspace button every five letters. It's enough to make me dread the morning. It is enough to make me have a good time.

I love it and hate it at the same time. I can't spell a three or four letter word. I wish I could fly like this every minute of every hour of every day. I could fly a leer jet. I could do nuclear physics. I could operate a fucking crane with no previous experience. I could fuck up everything.

I hate it.

What is "drunk." What is "love." What is "life." I hate it. I don't want it. I can't do it. I can't.

What is "can't?" Never say can't. You can't do anything. You can do everything if you want to. You can do nothing if you want to.

Self control. Apparently I haven't mastered it.

I watched three episodes of absolutely fabulous tonight. I watched Nicole as she sat next to me. She drank too. She didn't get the British comedy. What makes me get it and makes her only laugh at certain parts?

I don't understand. I just hope I wake up in time for work tomorrow. She left my house to get everything tonight. I want everything all the time. I never get everything. Sometimes I think I don't even get anything.

If I have to look at these damn red squiggly lines on this auto-spellchecked text bubble one more time I might just throw up.

I'm ill. I'm ill with myself. What is wrong with this Piccaso-esque picture I have painted? Is there really any beauty in it at all? Or is it just me who is laughing. Do you read this and think, "I feel so sorry for him. Alcohol ruins his life and deteriorates his inner being."? I wouldn't want to be me. Not now anyways.

I just want to be Pierce Brosnan. I want to be that 007. I want his gun, his car, his clothes, his sluts. I want to be everything, and nothing, all at once.

An ex lover recently accused me of filling the hole inside me with my nice car, my cellphone, my clothes. Is that wrong? What do you think?? Do I deteriorate myself?

I think I ruin my own relationships with my thoughts. My thoughts are battery acid. They ruin everything; turning even the shiniest platinum into dull browned shit. I turn myself into the muck that I despise. I ruin things. I don't want to be this person, not today, not tomorrow.

What does it take to ruin your life?

It only takes four beers my love. I can give you the recipe for disaster.

-Four beers

-British comedy

-High standards

-One empty stomach

I don't want to be this person. Not today; not forever.