On Writing

I started to write this absurd story I’ve been mulling over for a while. The story is to be a combination of some twisted experiences I’ve had out west. I shared one of those experiences today at a Narcotics Anonymous meeting. Everyone was trying to justify their social anxiety, one upping eachother’s self loathing. I had the last word, talking about how I puked on my way to the meeting and it reminded me of how disgusting and decidedly antisocial I can become with this story that culminates into me being on suicide watch on the top floor of the Multnohmah County Justice Center in Portland trying to drown myself in the toilet with my own urine. It’s a fantastic story to be heard exclusively at certain meetings I attend. 

Work went smoothly, once again. Nothing remarkable happened, really. I listened to a story out of Nightmares & Dreamscapes by Stephen King, read by Tabitha King, Stephen’s wife. I ripped this audiobook back in January in order to share it with the beautifully degenerate subreddit r/cripplingalcoholism to celebrate being sober for eleven days.

There isn’t much to say about today. Not much happened and besides stuff related to this book I’m attempting to write, nothing more profound really crossed my mind.