I’m not ready to be published yet, but I’ll keep writing. I just want one book published and then I’ll die simple and happy.
I got wasted with some mammals last night. Then went to a bar down the road from where we drinking in a loaded truck. Got in free, came out poor. Ended up grinding my teeth all night while I was asleep without a whole lot of dreaming. The pot was there, the beer was there, every one and thing was there. But I can’t remember any of it.
I’m standing in the kitchen of my apartment making mac and cheese (off brand single box) washing dirty dishes and hating myself. I’m still a fucking 17 year old sometimes.