13/8

Well hell I've been fired. Didn't take too long. I got warnings. Mea Culpa!! Really! Really! Mea Culpa. Oh, fuck it anyhow. I might do what that guy did in Leaving Las Vegas, go somewhere to drink myself to death.
Hell drink started this, its rapturous rapacious hands have clawed me to the nadir of its detritus, I am among the gravel now, not held in anyone's esteem, not even my known - in essence I'm completely free, in all other ways I'm completely alone. My only friend is the rubble of the pavement that blows through my body like a vacant ghost. I no longer feel. All this over a fucking job!
Well I'm drunk as hell now. I can still type though! I can always still type, I got steady hands.
I got steady hands but a prying heart.
Well I thought I couldn't punctuate my descent any further, but the long road looms on and its taken a further drop downhill.
My boss had every right, but he was still a cunt. There was no dignity about the way it went down. I mean I listened politely to his reasons. All my excuses were I could still do the job in this state. He started coming out with some right tripe, saying how he thinks ill have a heartattack imminently, and therefore does not want to scare the customers, whom surely would be reeling in terror as I succumb to my death. A death which I yearn for with each passing day.
This is no life for a man.
Leave would be a grateful blessing. But I have a qualm with it. My father always drilled me to be anything but cowardly. He was a military man, he died active in the field. And of all the deplorable things I am, a coward is not one of them. I won't purposely be a coward and condemn myself to death, even though the drinking has fucked me over. But I never drank as a coward. Never! My biggest task is to show myself that I'm not a coward. There's only one thing to do there. Give up my vice. Give it up and never succumb to it again.
God's speed.

6/8

Sometimes it feels like the earth shat you out and there's no meaning to nothing and no rightness to it either. We're all a swarm of meaningless, dull, feckless beasts that plough on through the strains of life for no foreseeable reason. What light at the end of the tunnel. Life's shit and then you die.
Hell I wasn't always this negative and cynical, but I guess I have lived by the sensibility of that last line. I was never worried about excess. Infact I always had ingrained in me a perpetual fear of too little; if I ate too little I'd get skinny and die, it was always too little that threatened me. I was accustomed to excess. Both my parents did everything in excess; they'd go all out when hosting parties, they'd have mountains of food and fountains of drink, they really did put on a good party. My father used to race down country roads with his driving buddies at 4 in the morning. My mother died an alcoholic.
There was excess all around me when young, I guess that's why I was used to it.
Anyway, I shouldn't complain about my lot too much, most of my demise was self-inflicted.
My job is still active, its paying somewhat, at least. I've been sober for almost a week now, which is something.

All my friends, well, my few friends - the ones whose advice I could actually count on - they reckoned that my wife set off my drinking bouts and depression. I never bought it at the time, but looking back, there may have been right. I remember we had instances when I moved away - we were on a 'break' - and I was living with a mate, or my parents, I was always on the straight and narrow. And if I hadn't completely cut out drinking, I had certainly toned it down. Then we made up, had sex and by the next night I was drunk again. Well. Doesn't make logical sense, but then humans are illogical.
Anyway, I'm going to get through this tall four-pack then settle down to dream, and hopefully rebuild the shack my life has become.