Happy fucking Groundhog Day.

I just ate an entire package of cookies and now I may hork.

Not really. I just wanted to use the word "hork."

Anyway, the past two days have been all about the writing and the math. Friday night was spent in various positions on my bed (oh, shut up), trying to find the most comfortable spot, should I decide to start typing that story. I finally passed out around 6 in the morning, with my laptop's cord wrapped around my stomach. And the word count? 300. Three fucking hundred words and I drank two bottles of wine.

Actually, I'm forgetting some details. Like how after that first bottle and a half I dozed off, only to be awakened by Jerkface calling me, half-drunk at 3am. And then when I sat up to grab the phone, I realized I had been cuddling with my computer. Oh, and how about that pack of cigarettes I killed in three hours?

Oh, Jesus fucking CHRIST. The local news station is showing a montage of Bucs footage from years past while Queen's We Are The Champions plays in the background. Are they actually going to do this for the whole song? Yes, I think they are. Good god.

What was I saying? Oh, yeah. The massive failure that was Friday night's writing spree that turned out to be a drinking and smoking spree, instead. Yep. I suck. I don't know why I couldn't finish the story, but I'm sure as hell going to find someone to blame for it.

How about Jerkface? Yeah, every time I went to write, I would start thinking about him and then totally forget where I was going with the story. And that whole calling me in the middle of the night thing didn't help, either.

He has no idea what he does to me.

Um, yeah. So that doesn't work. If anything, that boy makes me want to write. How about I blame...oh, I don't know. I can't even fabricate some claim against Jeb! or any one of the senators. I suck massively. And this would depress me, but I've been filling notebooks with math problems all night, so I'm not really thinking about self-worth right now. It's all about formulas and equations and real numbers.

I'm restless. This is not good. I break things when restless. And write confessional letters. Which is pretty much the same thing with me, come to think of it.

OK, time to...I don't know. But I'm going to do something that involves energy. Maybe I'll go climb the camphor tree. In the dark. Thirty minutes after taking some muscle relaxers. Because I like concussions. Yeah, sounds like a bitchin' time.

Quote!

"This is the season of, of wait and see and I'm waiting...don't give up on me." -Excuse 17 "Groundhog Day"

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