I am going to die.
It will not be a noble death.
urrrgh.
I'm only twenty but evidently my hangovers are that of somebody twice my age. I thought I was going to be fine! I was hyped up about going to the Newtown Markets. I was even considering a tipple at the Shakey this arvo!
Instead I am curled up watching bad video clips that my eyes are too sore to follow. I will not be receiving any visitors today and I make no apologies for behaving like a big baby. I'm allowed, because when you drink too much no one is sympathetic, so one has to over indulge in the wallowing the way one over indulged in the white wine about ten hours ago.
At least I didn't end up in Minsk
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sunday mornings in libraries. sunday afternoons in cafes. nights spent face down listening to white noise. swing dresses dried flowers and a pink sofa. ink stains and squids and messy hair. records on repeat. joan didion and middlemarch. words clutched so tightly they might as well be heartbeats. bad temperedness to boot. and a skirt worn like a flag
1 comment:
im sure dragging you out in the sun was better than a slow and painful solitary death at home! ...wasn't it?
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