Saturday Night Fever

So here I am again, yet another in the ceaseless lonely Saturday nights. Alone, drunk, and watching a cartoon. I feel like I'm at a crucial turning point in my life. I wish I could just say fuck it and move on, muddle through as it were. But alas that seems a dream out of my grasp. Am I destined to be alone for all my existence? Must I seek refuge in the arms of intoxication for the rest of my life?

So fucking anal! I can't even get these thoughts down without hitting the fucking backspace key every few strokes! It’s not like I can’t go back and edit later, but somehow I can't escape the compulsion of the backspace key. I wish life had a backspace key. But then again would I do something constructive with it? Or would I just continue the same non productive patterns of behavior? Why can't I just be normal? Yeah there is no "normal," but damn it for just once in my fucking useless existence I wish to be "normal,” Normal! There goes that damn backspace key!

Yeah I’m drunk, so my typing skills leave a lot to be desired. But come on! Muddle through. Forget the backspace key just for one fucking second!!!!!!!!!! You can edit later. The devil’s in the details, it's almost reflexive. Light headed escape from reality, sure I gave up one addiction, but now I've found another to supplement the one I've had all my life, the comfort, the satiety that provides me an all too ephemeral respite from the self induced torture. Why do I write? Why? That damn backspace key again, a compulsion I just can't fucking shake!

At least in a dream world I'm happy and content. MLP's character gets me, but even then I'm not satisfied. I'm still anxious and looking for answers. I can't even enjoy myself in a good dream, even when that's the best I've felt in a long time. Even in blissful enjoyment I can't be truly content. Even in the realm of fantasy I'm anxious. How long can I go on battling my personal demons? Boy that question mark is in an inopportune place. Who designed this QWERTY keyboard anyway? Something about not making the manual keyboard jam. Yes I'm drunk, but at least in this state of stupor I can sort of escape the grim realties of my fucked up life. I wish I could end it, I really do. But I know from experience I don't have the balls for that.

I've never had the balls, that's basically the problem isn’t it? Never having “the balls?” When the push came to shove, I just didn't have the balls to do it. I've taken some risks in my life to be sure. REM, now that took some balls, asking out the super cute blonde dream girl. What the fuck was I thinking? Now she's married, with two gorgeous kids, and I'm alone, again on a Saturday night. Alone, drunk, and watching Superman.

Jesus! I'm 35 fucking years old! 35, when am I going to grow up? When am I going to let go of the unattainable fantasies? When am I going to burry the skeletons in the closet and stop feeling sorry for myself? If only I could cry and sleep the sleep of the righteous. If only I could "just do it!" Ok that's enough now. Time to spell check...