I used to be a party person. I could go until all hours, consume copious amounts of drugs and alcohol and make an unbearably obnoxious fool of myself.
It’s a wonder I ever had any friends at all.
Pity, I assume. I’m not blind. The cool kids all had deep connections; I was just kind of there, filling space and being an idiot.
That said, now, I made it to midnight last night and today, I’m a wreck.
Getting old is the shits, which is different than being the shit.
Much, much different.
Target: 500 words
Written: 873 words, novella: The Mungk
Read: The Sword Of Shannara, Terry Brooks
Comics: Y The Last Man 37-40
Music: Viva Wisconsin, Violent Femmes (I don't know what it is about these guys, but I connect so completely with literally everything they've ever done, except Vancouver, which sucks)