Half of the time I'm awkward, it's because I'm halfway between laughing and crying. I've been halfway laughing and crying for years now. Haven't slept in days. Just rolling back and forth. Covers on. Covers off. Halfway in, halfway out. Somersaulting mind, money, job, money, love, money, friends, home, body, mind, wasted. I've given some of my best lines to New York. Sure, she's a wrangled, mangy muse, but why must she keep puking in my purse? I'm too weakened to clean that shit.

I guess the only reason I am halfway laughing is the absurdity. My cat just peed in the toilet. I hear it from here. Now she's tossing around a plush mustache with eyes, rolling gruffly over the backs of my thighs. It's absurd that I get out of bed each day. The rims of my eyes seem redder every day...purple today. I've come to a standstill. I go to work, come back home, plug into my computer...where I've been all day. Soon it's 5am. Soon the suns up. Soon the construction starts. Soon I'll thank God that at least I'm alone in this bed. I only go on dates so that I can eat and drink and still have money to do it myself the next day. Sometimes it's a good distraction. Sometimes I think I could play at this. My mind chews that up, somewhere between the hours of 2 and 5, it's not worth the effort. You'll have to break it off when the rest of you realizes its not enough anyway. Do it now. Fill it, before the cavity comes.

The bourbon no longer warms me. It makes me nauseous. The cigarettes have no appeal. I reach for any substitution. Tequila, pipe, warm body...wait, you don't want that, put it back. I haven't been productive in weeks. Except for the writing. That's easy. I give it all up though. None of it is for me. None of it is saved for a rainy day. Saved for anything pure. Something needs to change. How often do I say that? And maybe you have to hit rock bottom to change? Fuck love. Fuck job security. Fuck comfort. Let's cut it off here. Let's bleed. Let's laugh and cry about it. There can't be that much time left for us, let's use it how we want to or at least how we need to. I say that to myself, so I must be living exactly how I wanted to. This must be the life. What a mighty fine life.

I want to roll it all up and find my trail. But how do you know if you're climbing, or still pacing at the bottom of the hill? How do you know, if you're not even sure if you're moving? Is that what all that falling crap is about? Maybe you know how far you've gotten up the hill, by how far you fall? If you're still at the bottom, you don't have far to fall.

Thank God for good people. For safety nets. Sure, you won't have to be afraid of falling, but maybe when it happens inevitably, you'll know who to thank when your skull ain't cracked.