Valentine's Day Curse
Mood:
Sick
Let me tell y’all about my Valentine’s Day curse. Excepting year 2000, the past eight or so Valentine’s Days have been harbingers of disaster.
2002 – Missy leaves for Los Angeles
2001 – My last intimate encounter with Murmur, relationship terminated one week later
2000 – As surprisingly pleasant Valentine’s with Sheiliah (we’re still good friends)
1999 – Relations with Kyun-jin suspended on March 1, the day my tour with the U.S. Army ended
1998 – Utterly stupid fight with L. in Lawrence, Kansas just after we visited the last residence of William S. Burroughs, relations deteriorated slowly and ended two months later
1997 – No girlfriend
1996 – Miserable Day with K., relations terminated two weeks later
1995 – V-Day spent alone because T. didn’t believe in V-Day, relations terminated in early March
Such is life, serial daters have to deal with this sort of crap, I suppose. On the bright side, I did my free-write for Beth and it came out OK. It should good enough for my grad school portfolio. I have to hand in 80 pages of work by May 5, 2002, which wouldn’t be too terribly bad since the work doesn’t receive a grade per-se, but completion is a requirement for my M.A. The hard part is that all of my work written prior to Columbus Day, 2001 was lost in the fire. Several hard copies of my Clarion stories exist and I saved some of my old chap books, but I hate rewriting my old stuff. It physically hurts – chest, fingers, and head. I hate redundancy. So what all this means is that I have about ten usable pages of work, which leaves 70 pages to be completed in 90 days.
Last night I drowned my writing and relationship sorrows at Ulanna’s, a dingy hole-in-the-wall goth club here in Philadelphia. I and my friend Ryan gobbled vodka and Coors, stared at hot leather clad women, and made plans for a European vacation. At 2 AM, I drove my orange Schwin home; I was overflowing with alcohol-addled lust and self-pity. To feel better, I read some Baudellaire. Allow me to quote from “Enivrez-Vous!”
“One should always be drunk, that’s all that matters, that’s our one imperative need. So as not to feel time’s terrible burden that breaks your shoulders and bows you down you must get drunk without ceasing.”
On a side note, both my roommate and his girlfriend threw up this morning.
ABORT, RETRY, OR FAIL
2002 – Missy leaves for Los Angeles
2001 – My last intimate encounter with Murmur, relationship terminated one week later
2000 – As surprisingly pleasant Valentine’s with Sheiliah (we’re still good friends)
1999 – Relations with Kyun-jin suspended on March 1, the day my tour with the U.S. Army ended
1998 – Utterly stupid fight with L. in Lawrence, Kansas just after we visited the last residence of William S. Burroughs, relations deteriorated slowly and ended two months later
1997 – No girlfriend
1996 – Miserable Day with K., relations terminated two weeks later
1995 – V-Day spent alone because T. didn’t believe in V-Day, relations terminated in early March
Such is life, serial daters have to deal with this sort of crap, I suppose. On the bright side, I did my free-write for Beth and it came out OK. It should good enough for my grad school portfolio. I have to hand in 80 pages of work by May 5, 2002, which wouldn’t be too terribly bad since the work doesn’t receive a grade per-se, but completion is a requirement for my M.A. The hard part is that all of my work written prior to Columbus Day, 2001 was lost in the fire. Several hard copies of my Clarion stories exist and I saved some of my old chap books, but I hate rewriting my old stuff. It physically hurts – chest, fingers, and head. I hate redundancy. So what all this means is that I have about ten usable pages of work, which leaves 70 pages to be completed in 90 days.
Last night I drowned my writing and relationship sorrows at Ulanna’s, a dingy hole-in-the-wall goth club here in Philadelphia. I and my friend Ryan gobbled vodka and Coors, stared at hot leather clad women, and made plans for a European vacation. At 2 AM, I drove my orange Schwin home; I was overflowing with alcohol-addled lust and self-pity. To feel better, I read some Baudellaire. Allow me to quote from “Enivrez-Vous!”
“One should always be drunk, that’s all that matters, that’s our one imperative need. So as not to feel time’s terrible burden that breaks your shoulders and bows you down you must get drunk without ceasing.”
On a side note, both my roommate and his girlfriend threw up this morning.
ABORT, RETRY, OR FAIL
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