June 18th

I'm writing this early in the morning, mid-hangover, on my laptop at my desk.

I wouldn't call myself an alcoholic, persay. But, I do feel like I have a bit of an adversarial relationship with alcohol.

I met up with Tara last night, and we hung out under the bridge. Well, I say "hung out", but really it was mostly just us sitting and drinking together, but we shared a bottle which I think is romantic?

I keep hoping that alcohol will bring me courage to tell her how I feel, even if I hadn't figured it out myself, but all it seems to do is make me clam up harder. She doesn't seem to mind though... she seems to have a lot on her mind, like she's working through something, maybe her recent breakup. I was just about ready to ask her what was going on, when she got the jump on me instead.

"So what's your deal?" Tara asked. I gave her a confused look, handing her the bottle.

"What do you mean?"

"You have that sad look in your eyes... and I mean, I don't think I've ever seen you sober."

"That's... fair. I don't know." I lit up a cigarette, the third one since we'd been there, and took a long drag. "Life just hasn't really panned out quite how I hoped."

Tara nodded. "I get that." She paused to take a drink, then held out her hand. I handed her my cigarette and lit up another. "I haven't been having much luck either, the past... well, decade or so."

She laid down flat on her back, staring up at the underside of the bridge. Without a word, I laid down next to her, and stared quietly for quite some time, soothed by the periodic rumble of cars driving across the bridge.

"That friend of yours is a real dick, by the way."

"Yunie?"

"No, Yunie's fine I think. I meant Misha."

"Oh. Misha isn't really my friend. Yunie barely even likes the guy. They just need his money to keep the space, you know how it is.

Tara whiffed, amused. "Yeah, I know how it is."

It was mostly quiet after that. We spent probably another half an hour under the bridge, mostly quiet, occassionally waffling some small-talk. Eventually she had to head out, but I stayed under the bridge for a while, not really having the energy or motivation to move. After an amount of time I found incomprehensible (due to deteriorated mental state more than actual length), I finally stumbled home. Presumably I don't remember much from when I got home, but presumably I made it to bed at some point, since that was where I was when I woke up.

I can't really blame alcohol for my bad decisions lately. If anything I could argue that everything good in my life came from alcohol. Of course, that would be an extremely shallow argument contrived entirely to justify my bad decisions, but hey, you know how it is.