Sunday Night Muse

I should probably preface this: I have had way too much to drink on way too empty of stomach. My routines were rippled and altered to the point that I don't know what the day is or the time, etc.If that's something one can ever know.  It's good to know, however,  that people that weren't my family I still think of as family, and they still think of me the same. First Street Hugs. Warms me up. I've had such a tough time with the latest story, but have not been more excited about a story as I am with this one. Too close to home, I guess, in some ways, in many ways. But I keep working at it. Damn her.

Also on my mind: 3am calls from far away places is an acceptable reason to be tired, up all night reading is acceptable, staring at the walls listening to worn out playlists...hmm, not so much. Not as much. It's tough to cut something out, when that something seems pretty damn important. Always has. Certainly seemed important at the time.  I'm slightly worried-- as worried one can be on a slight level-- how much I just don't care. How much I want to not care. To remove elements that make me care.  I have always loved The Stranger, but never because I thought it was an ideal way to live life. But maybe it is. When you give everything, you give your whole and complete self, and then everything is lost, or taken, or shat upon, then what are you really left with? Nothing, I suppose.