2002-02-21

...

One thing that's been heartening, in a fucked-up way, is hearing from so many people about what a horrible month this has been for them as well. It's just generally been Suck Month for bunches of us.

Thank God it's almost over. Because, really, I'm so ready to write it all off as a cruel cosmic joke: "Okay, Lisa, you will spend all of January in the happy pink bubble of sobriety, and then come February, you will be socked with every conceivable bout of spastic crappiness."

I've been a veritable Super Ball for most of this month. Bouncy bouncy. My bandmates are ready to haul me off to the looney bin, the houseboy had to literally scrape me off the floor on Tuesday night, and � amazingly enough � I'm still not quite convinced that holing up in my bedroom closet with a fifth of Jack Daniels is simply no longer a viable coping mechanism for me. I have to keep reminding myself that it only feels really good for maybe 20 minutes. And then it feels pretty crummy, and for a hell of a lot longer.

I absolutely cannot stand myself when I am this morose and pathetic. How to snap the fuck out of it without inserting something unpleasant into my plumbing?

Well, there's this: despite my lovely relapse on Tuesday, I am now able to fit back into my Size 8 "skinny girl jeans." If I went back to tanking up every other night, I would not be able to wear them.

And. Tomorrow night. If I may. Borrow the Cube Girl's inimitable style. Tomorrow night. Leif Garrett is playing at TT's.

Leif. Fucking. Garrett.

I am so there, chickens. I was heretofore toying with the idea of going to my high school reunion. But I figured, I see all the people from high school that I want to see on a near-regular basis. And I went to the ten-year and had a miserable time. Leif Garrett or a night in the land of madras plaid and boat shoes? Please.

lisamcc at 12:52 p.m.

previous | next