The Shasta Cola bubbles a bit, not like Coke does, but good enough. I add a splash of Dark Honey Seagram’s whiskey to it. I used to drink like the proverbial fiend. Oh yes, I did.
I don’t care but I do, if people read the novel I plan to post here in its gaudy, raw entirety. I’m trying to give myself future projects and such to keep myself going a bit longer. A reason to give a damn about enduring a few more days. I am drifting and it’s better if I am busy. Isn’t that true for everyone? If you’re busy, you don’t notice things. How trite and how true at the same time, as most observations are.
The taste in the Navel Academy Cup, brought from Annapolis, MD, is rather sweet. Low-rent cola and booze I found on sale around Christmas. Every now and then you want an adult beverage. I do, anyway. I used to go to bars to get one or several.
Dive bars, even. Scary dirty dive bars full of scary dirty people who turned out to just be tired folks wondering if they had enough for another drink. Laughing with friends or playing pool with a buddy or doing the same things you do in bright lit bars full of artisan beers and huckleberry hard cider by the pint. I haven’t been out for ages. Yes, I was once one to just go to a bar by myself. Usually on a karaoke night. I used to sing.
I used to sing.
Reminds me I haven’t been on a stage since last August. I miss performing. Reminds me further of all the truly abysmal choices I made that brought me here. To a tiny room and a stray cat. And a bottle of whiskey. I have that, at least. That’s something!
But that’s bitterness. Or honesty. I can’t tell which anymore. The two seem to blend so seamlessly anymore.
Just make it through the day. That’s all I have to do.
Yes, it’s always bad in my head. Some days far worse, of course, than other days. Just finish the Owyhee novel. Goal for this spring. Work on screenplay. Goal for this spring. Make it through each day. Goal for this day.