Life

 "Sometimes it seems like my only friend is a whiskey glass

You know it don't kill the time but it helps it pass"

-Amy Milan, "Baby Baby"

What follows is a long succession of days blurred into a hazy fog of complaints aired on the balcony served with too much vodka and wine. I write a little. But mostly, time not spent commiserating with my roommate, is wasted stumbling around the internet. I apply for jobs when I see them, but of the dozens of applications I send I hear back from only a handful. I start taking online quizzes and tests, "To pass the time," I tell myself, but I think I really just want to answer questions, any question, about myself that isn't, "What's your religion?" or "Why aren't you married?"

The internet tells me I'm smart. The internet tells me I know a lot less about books than I thought, and far more about movies, and TV shows I've never even watched, than I'll ever admit to anyone other than the internet. The internet tells me I may have a problem with alcohol and drug abuse. The internet tells me the jobs I'm best suited for are 'Dictator" and "Assassin." The fact that I can picture myself being very successful at these things does nothing to improve my opinion of myself or my future.

So I drink a little more, find new TV shows to waste my time with while I mentally construct hit lists and search for friends I can relate to. At least I'm eligible for parole.