Paint it black

What a night.

Good lord I’m exhausted. Trouble typing, if at some point I bail and continue tomorrow, forgive me.

Just hoofed it four miles from H-bombs house, under a significant amount of influence. Madonna to Grand – Travel time: A zillion miserable hours in the cold dark.

Moments, in the end, are what really count.
People talk about memory as if it’s a consistent and fluid system, where any incident can be rewound and discussed and analyzed at leisure, but in reality, that’s far from the truth. Just a moment, I need to vomit again.

Where were we.

In actuality, memory is a series of moments, more like a packet of flash cards than a continuous movie. Given this premise, let’s discuss some of tonight’s more memorable moments:

1) 40 in hand, I stand with eyes shut and muscles flexed. I’m about half way through my first Camo 40, likely the most unspeakably disgusting beverage ever crafted by human hands, and I’m standing in H-Bomb’s living room with my shirt off waiting to get darts thrown at me. Why?

Because it’s the right thing to do. Camera is rolling, darts are flying, camo is dwindling. Darkness and pain and sickness… I remember bleeding, and something about a broken faucet and jump kicking a water cooler…

2) The Brass Panda: As if Oregon’s very own Camo wasn’t mind-shatteringly disgusting enough, what does Nate do? Put a half-cup of Teriyaki sauce in it. The smell alone made me want to explode. The flavor? Like alcoholic death.

3) Earlier this afternoon: Failure. Within 15 minutes, I give up on my programming project due at midnight (turnng it in for partial credit), get fucked by Gus’s Sandwiches that forgot my roast beef leaving me with a cheese and mustard sandwich, and my ex shows up. It’s like every mistake and fuck-up I’ve ever been party to decided to mob to my place simultaneously, just to make sure my despair was complete. The agony continued later, but this is neither the time nor the place….

4) Marching in the dark. Good christ that’s a long walk, Madonna to Grand… It’s equivalent (spiritually) to walking from Texas to Alaska after a gallon of beer.

5) Broken glass in my 40 and I’m drinking anyway. What the shit was that about…

A big part of me thinks that self destruction is exactly what I needed tonight. And myself, well, I’m destroyed. Another part of me languishes in the fact that my inability to meet project deadlines, participate in meaningful relationships, or head butt a cop is dragging me down far more than you know. Time will tell, I suppose.

God damn that camo was gross. 60 oz and 4 miles later, the filth still lingers in my mouth. It tastes like sorrow.

Only born and bred Oregonians could craft such a drink; 40 oz of malt liquor despair that makes Olde English seem like Kool-Aid.

The long march home was not without insight, however. Solitude and cold always bring out the wisdom… Again, I worry that in my current state I might spill the proverbial beans, and so I must keep my lips sealed. Don’t be sinkin no ships, fool.

This night was, well, appropriate. Even as ripped as I am right now, I know I’ll be hurting tomorrow. The cold and the distance and the god damn malt liquor conspire against me, an unholy trinity of suffering which is exactly what I predicted.

I don’t, stricltly, believe in karma, but tonight’s penance better fucking earn me some happier days in the future. I’ve had just about as much unhappiness and camo as I can take, at least for the next few days.

To those I’ve wronged, which I bet are more numerous than I realize, I’m sorry.
To those who’ve wronged me, which are probably fewer than I claim, I forgive you.
To my friends, fuck yeah.
Camo Ice, the breakfast of champions. Cheers to the good things in life, like bleeding on your nice shirt, and Oregon. Pimps up, hos down.

Time to pass out….
-T.

p.s. Somebody drive me to my truck tomorrow morning, for fuck’s sake.

Also, the San Luis Obispo County Health Inspector has declared our tap water unfit for human consumption, which is awesome. Can I get some props for drinking 5000% of my daily allowance of Arsenic for the last three years? Yay for our shady ass slum lord.

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