Every day is the same exact day

Being a miserable person is easier when you have someone to share it with, but watch three or four Bill Murray movies in a row by yourself trying not to think about all your personal faults and you'll see too that it has an underneath effect, like hey it's slowly making notches in your bones that start to splinter and stick into the muscle. At least Peter Venkman was charming and funny on top of his thinly-veiled contempt. What redeems you with an audience is what I had to ask myself.

Every time I come home to bag out for awhile after the latest tragedy of being alive one of the dogs, name's Huxley, never knew me as a kid, well she follows me around all over. Right then she was pressed against the door to the spare bedroom whining accusations into the crack, and I thought how do you get an empty bottle of whiskey past her and everybody else and into the garbage without being put on suicide watch for secret drinking. I was full of questions, like what are you doing here anyways goddamn. People called, left messages about can I buy you some furniture at this yard sale. I'm sorry with a hint of I told you not to open a joint bank account. Stuff like that. I kept my phone off mostly.

You do a thing and then you keep doing a thing and then one day you find you can't do a thing anymore. You find you've compromised yourself one electron at a time, from the inside out, and now you're just an onion skin. That's the whole story, but you don't say a story like that aloud. Look I'm trying to write a warning here is what I put down on paper. I watched movies and I drank and I wrote things down, and I thought Steve Zissou, Frank Milo, Bob Harris, and Phil, they would understand. You don't say that aloud either.