I’m a little drunk, tired, and crying. None of it is my fault. Anyhow, now isn’t the time to write, which makes it impossible to resist. It’s easier to surprise yourself when you aren’t, well, yourself. I mixed myself a tall glass of scotch and lime margarita mix, in a lame attempt at a whisky sour. Twenty minutes later, two drinks away from finishing it, I find out the margarita mix is already mixed with Tequila. Oh, and “I put in some rum because you can barely taste the tequila,” says my dad. Never mind that margaritas are meant not to taste like tequila. The bottle says 12%, so with the rum that’s, hmm, fuck, who cares. So I just drank the equivalent of 8-9 shots of hard liquor. I’m a little lightheaded. Being tired for no apparent reason is a staple of American life. Nobody does nothing like us, or needs as much medication to recover from it. I prefer caffeine and nicotine, mostly because they work, cause relatively little damage to my body, and are cheap. A few minutes ago I was wiping tears from my eyes. Real, goodness to gracious, tears. Maybe it’s the yuppie chemical cocktail. I’m watching Six Feet Under, and Nate just died, and that is, fucking sad. If you haven’t been watching for five years, you don’t care, or understand. It feels good to cry for something. Especially because it’s a TV show and I don’t have to deal with true tragedy as long as I’m weeping for the imagined. They bury Nate out in the middle of nowhere, wrapped in a shroud instead of a casket, and un-embalmed. A green burial; which is just like the fucker. Watching his family go really nuts, and this family is nuts enough, makes it easy to cry. Two more episodes and it’s (the show) over. I’m old, aren’t I? (Oh, Claire is hot. Crazy artistic red heads with surly dispositions are hot.) Tomorrow I start eating meat. I doubt it’ll be permanent. It’s hard to even think about it. About a year ago I wrote an essay on not eating meat. It makes it easy to be foolish when you’ve carefully organized your reasons. Maybe sometime next week I’ll clean it up and post it. This camping trip I’m going on is either going to be an absolutely great time or a disaster. But then again, what can’t that be said about?Ja.