bottles and friends, just clap your hands.
2005-04-03 @ 11:15 a.m.

yesterday was patricks birthday. after work we split a bottle of wine in plastic cups and pushed the couches together to hang out. i love my job. we went to mortal coil for drinks last night but mostly bentley, ellain and mike and i just sat together and made tactless jokes. issues revolving around my mother are slowly dissolving. mostly i'm trying to ascend and dismantle questions that don't have concrete answers; like, how did i get to be second best to a two six of vodka? or, how would i survive asking her to change, knowing that she never would? the answers are too simple to satisfy without absolute forfeit. i forfeit myself to the powers at be which are much beyond my control and influence. i cannot change my lot, my hand, my trite metaphore for life. my dad tells me that i have to stop thinking about my life in terms or my mothers. i have to realize and rationalize a difference between her and i and take care of myself first, and foremost. i feel guilty because he feels guilty and in the back of our minds we both know that it's neither of our faults. still there is an illogical rush of misguided energy that we both direct to protecting one another. i wish i had an altrusitic third eye to pocket or dismiss all of my inner thoughts.

gauche_____drop_____gauche_____drop_____gauche_____