My original subject was too "emo"

It's funny the way things can suddenly turn around. Not always for the bad...but not always for the good either. Maybe for the...kinda ok. But honestly, I never really know what to think about...anything, really. My mind, my thoughts, are usually a jumble of scrabble letters on the stands before anyone really makes any actual words out of them. Triple word score on Demented...wait, that's not right, is it?

Letters come together, sometimes they form words, sometimes they don't. It's my longoria (read: word vomit) and I live by it. Mainly because that's just how it is in my little horrorland. The letters, the words, the sometimes full, actual sentences...they don't always make sense. Not to me...not to people...not to the actual voices in my head. It's something I come to live with. And so it begins. Take two drinks. A couple of pills. Repeat.

When I think, I write. When I write, it doesn't always make sense. This is a grand example of one of those times. Currently I sit in front of my weasels' computer, listening to the soft purr of snores as he sleeps, and I think. I think and I think...of what it is that I actually want to say, and...nothing. Nothing comes to mind. Yet, when I'm not looking for words, or sentences, they spill out like a bulimic's Christmas dinner. It's uncontrollable...to a point. To the point that it's hard for me...at least in the past few years...to actually cry in front of anybody. I'll bite my lip as hard as I can and intermonologue, "Don't cry, don't cry. Just breathe." It works, but it's hard. And kind of controllable (read: tough acting).

So, is there an actual point to this little rant of mine? Not really. In fact, I'm drunk...on natty light and day four of no sleep. I wonder if I'll be able to sleep at least a little tonight. The past 3 days, it wasn't really affecting me. In fact, when I worked (read: paid gym), I seemed to feel better and actually energetic. You know, the adrenaline combined with a high dosage mix of Monster and Diet Coke pumping through my veins as I moved boxes around and lifted and squatted as recquired...made me a little awake, despite the lack of the sleepytown visits. But now, it's the weekend. No working (out) for a whole two days. And my battery juice pretty much seemed to run out halfway through today. Which, like the past two days, seemed to last an eternity. Wait, rewind, I keep losing my train of thought.

Ugh, with the no sleep, it's like my realities and my dreams become one and the same. Unintelligable to the untrained mind (read: me), do therr'd nothing I can do about it.

Ok, I'm starting to have to hit the backspace button one too many times (read: drunk), so that's when I know I need to stop blahgging. Take two drinks. A couple pills. Repeat. (read: good luck making sense of this invariable mess of thoughts).

On another point of messed up thoughts...wondering about that girl that talks to him, daily, it seems...and the one that used to be in his life who I hate...am I crazy? Or just a girl? I'd like to say it's just cause I'm a girl, but that's just an excuse. Who knows why I get the paranoid, schizo feelings, but I do. And it sucks. And the not sleeping doesn't help my rational thinking either. There's always the possibility of cheating. Note: cheating isn't always physical. It can be emotional as well. And secrets? Well, let's just say they fan the fire. Take two drinks. A couple of pills. Repeat.