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.