Dusty

I'm sorta peripherally watching Gia starring Angelina Jolie. It's sorta peripherally interesting. Today I finished prepping my kitchen walls, so they are finally, finally, finally ready to paint. That's me after sanding plaster for about 5 hours. It's pretty scary but kind of cool when you click on it. The shower felt fucking great. Can't say the same for my back, shoulders, and arms. I wish I hadn't given all my Vicodin away. Fucking druggie friends. Sorry, that sounded harsh. Beer is pretty much my drug, that's all. I made a bottle of Vicodin last for almost a year, even sharing it with druggie friends. The last of it went quickly, unfortunately, and undeservedly. You might even say greedily. Fuck it.

I'll just drink some beer and take some Aleve and stretch out on the floor and daydream about painting my kitchen Tahitian Sunset or Key Largo (pink) or Moonlight or Fairy Wren or Soft Earth (gray). I haven't ruled out Duke Red or Kenswick Brown. If I'm lucky the cat will walk over my back for a few seconds. I wish I could train my cats to do that, walk on my back, like I used to do for my brother when I was little.

It's hard to write when Angelina Jolie is getting beat up by drug dealers and is close to death. Which isn't to say this movie is compelling, but she has one of those faces you sort of have to look at, regardless of the context. Ok, the movie is over, and it was Ok.

I'm glad I don't have the Vicodin. Shit's really bad for your liver in combination with alcohol anyway. Lord knows I can't abide by liver damage. At this point I'm just thinking out loud. Music. That's what I need. Music and darkness. Actually, maybe I need silence. Silence and a candle. Silence and a candle and another beer.