I have to hurry up and get dressed and take my sister to her car. The funny thing is–I maybe sort of implied to someone that I would go out with them tonight, but I am not all that sure I want to. I kinda wanted to lie in bed and write most of the day and then bake sweet bread for Easter because it’s the thing to do, man. But now that I have to get up and see civilization I might just suck it up and go to Chinasville and hangout and get drunk or whatever.

I was suppose to be at work today, but I didn’t feel the urge. I didn’t call in. I don’t really care. I hate to admit it, but I might be hitting an emotional lull. I hate to stop drinking when I have been on such a spectacular stretch like I currently am, but I think I am killing myself.

Last night I drove to the beach and watched the sunrise. Some guy I know kept texting me to come over but I texted back, “I am at the beach.” And he texted, “What for?” And I told him that I had to sail away to my home country and this was my Bon Voyage party. We only text because his Irish accent is so thick and my speedy rhetoric basically make us incapable of understanding one another over the phone. Also, he is perplexed by my non-sensical riddles and I am probably better off speaking to him like he is a tiny dog.

I think that people are incapable of satisfying me. I like to think I can somehow, psychically explain to people–men–what I want without ever saying a goddamn word. I hate this. I wish I could stop and that I could write out endless pages of exactly how I feel and what I want, but I can’t. Being a woman is so fucking lame. I always empathize with guys when they are going nuts over some lame bitch because I have been–will be that bitch. I hate women. I hate games. I hate toys. I hate. I hate. I hate.

Last night, I stole a giant serving spoon from the restaurant I ate at. I placed it neatly in my purse and would take it out periodically while at bars and poke men in the ass with it. I was sober the entire time. I really enjoyed doing this. Later on, after we left the after hours place and politely declined the invitation to go to the Beachwood house and do copious amounts of coke and crystal meth–I went to my friend’s house and put the serving spoon I had used all night long to poke in men’s asses in some fruit salad sitting in her fridge.

I hate her too.