Time For A Proper Drunk (or: The Desperate Goodbye)

August 5, 2025

Let’s see how I do with 8 shots. 6 down (9:30)

Prologue: good morning dear reader. Apologies for this train wreck. I experienced what rocket engineers call an R.U.D. last night.

Rapid
Unplanned
Disassembly

It's engineer speak for ‘explosion’.

The last year has been—words fail me— it hasn’t been a hell of a year, it’s been a year of HELL.

I’ll spare you the gory details, but the short is, by early June, I was depressed, suicidal and unsure how to get out bed every day.

Realizing death wasn’t going to swallow me up in release, I managed to drag my sorry butt to the doctor and try to start repairing my broken body and mind.

The right drugs did wonders for panic attacks and an SSRI buried the sadness under a solid layer of the right brain chemistry.

I was no longer shuddering in tears every day and i was beginning to function as a human again.

But, the sadness, the bleak still lingered.

I was trying everything at this point: revised diet, daily exercise, intellectual activities, lots of different calming apps... nothing would break through that dam of unhappiness.

Until she came back.

My Love Is Like A Storybook Story

A long time ago, I fell in love. Twice. It’s not like the Princess Bride where Wesley adores his Buttercup and says ‘as you wish’ because he is a farmhand and can’t tell her ‘I love you’, so expresses his adoration through acts of service until feeling betrayed he becomes the Dread Pirate Roberts, comes back and learns he hadn't been betrayed and wins Buttercup's now much humbled heart.

Well—maybe it is a little like that…

Only, Wesley is already married to a princess who is beautiful and kind and everybody loves her in the land, except in pretty short order, this OTHER princess, we'll call her Marigold, realizes marriage to Wesley is kind of a pain in the ass. It brings out her paranoia and limits her ability to fully believe in him. So, while he loves his Princess Marigold, he learns that his enormous well of love can only be reciprocated in limited measures and accepts that he is facing decades of mental and emotional pressure (nay anguish), but assumes that comes with the territory of commitment. For better or worse, after all.

Mental anguish notwithstanding.

So, LIKE, Wesley, the boy (moi) commits himself to a life of service. His I-love-yous come to mean ‘as you wish’ or 'yes dear' It’s not ideal for our Wesley-an doppleganger, but, it gave this author purpose and direction in life. It was always my hope to experience the worshipful support of a woman, but if all I ever achieved was making someone feel a small measure of the care and passion i carried but never had, I would call this lifetime a success.

So, your author set himself to the work. He was committed to the vow he took as a teenager, realizing it was likely the best he could hope for in a life that, up until that point, had been filled with—eh, not a lot of greatness.

Marigold's own life had been limited in happinesses and so I saw it as my duty to fulfill what small dreams I could.

Mental illness is a hell of a thing though. And you can’t readily understand the complexity an unhealthy mind experiences. Mostly all you can do is endure it and develop patience.

Enter Buttercup

Then, I met Buttercup.

She was unlike any woman I had ever known. Highly intelligent, driven, controlled, deeply passionate. Meeting her was electric.

I won’t say something inane, like ‘it was love at first sight’. Please, I’m not that shallow. But, I will say, the day I met her—it was unquestionable that she had an allure. When she entered a room, it was like the air was charged.

And i knew a LOT of women. I grew up with a very direct mother, strong willed and vocal, two sisters and a dad who mostly just worked and tinkered in the garage. I do and have always identified more easily with the fairer sex. Women are simply easier with which to communicate.

I know, you logisticians out there will balk. They're too emotional. I know. I know. But when you find a woman who can communicate, it's glorious. And some of them, like Buttercup... god, they are like breathing.

Sorry boys, I don't get you guys. Well, most of you. You prefer to study facts and statistics (god help me if I get confronted with another 'who is your favorite sports team' question). A woman will discuss the molecular structure of a thing, but then she'll happily discuss the emotional implications that come from the scent it generates.

I know, it's a romanticized justification.

But, hey, it's my emotional crisis, I'll justify whatever the hell I want to.

Where was I? Oh, yes. Buttercup. She quickly grew very close to both Wesley and Marigold. Here direct, communication, dancer's drive, fantastic children, and absolute joie de vivre we irresistible to us both.

Sharkjumper

Role the cliché, please: And I fell in love with my wife's best friend.

Now, as I have established, I've been a 'good boy' for, essentially, my whole life. There's been no shortage of moral and practical pratfalls, but nothing major and I wasn't about to let my feelings for another man's wife sideline what was at that point in my early 20's, a very limited track record.

She had her own demons, Buttercup. But she was also fighting hard to be a good girl. All of us were in those days. And have continued to our whole lives.

And so, lifetime's passed and I admired her and worshiped her in the little ways i could inside the box I had built for myself. And it made me happy. They moved away and made a life and raised a family and we moved away and made a life. And Buttercup and her prince suffered and Wesley and Marigold suffered. We were all inhabiting the same universe. My love for her as as complete as it could be.

But, I got old and crazy, I guess.

Now, this isn't going to end in a hotel room and sex. So, if you're waiting for the licentiousness, let me disappoint you right now.

This story is just about an unrequited passion for someone that could never and would never be mine. Even the idea of the two of us together was never a possibility. I knew and know the pain we would all have to go through in order to achieve that. It would be a grueling affair for everyone no matter how it went.

Better to just suffer in silence. I had a wife and a life and while it is not and never has been ideal, I'm a good working dog, so having plenty to do was enough to get me to the end of the road.

This was a LOT easier when I though Buttercup saw me as I saw myself: a doughboy nerd artist. Clever and fun and not worth most people's time.

Meltdowns and Mischief

The pandemic changed a lot of things.

For the last 15 years, I've been in that stage of life where i have the experience and knowledge to be useful in a lot of areas. That means more and more was getting piled on my plate. By the middle of 2022, I was working 16 hour days 6 days a week all year long.

I was working as a freelance artist, volunteering as a freelance artist, volunteering as a construction worker for spiritual projects, counseling, teaching and public speaking, all volunteer work. And I loved it. A working dog is a happy dog.

But, I didn't understand that my mind and body couldn't sustain that indefinitely. I started to get that sense, and attempted to start offloading responsibility and sharing the work my volunteer task load entailed. But, I discovered that I had put myself in the unenviable position of being a linchpin on so many things that no one in my peer group was willing to pick up the loads i wanted to set down.

So, I kept grinding.

To take a break, we traveled across the country to visit our friends and catch our breath. Then in a night when I was letting my hair down and having way too many beers and too much amaretto, Buttercup and I—well, we had a glancing blow.

Nothing tragic or vow-breaking. But it wasn't smart. And it told us both something we had long suspected, probably even hoped for. We were VERY into one another. We would later figure out that though we were deeply in love with our mates of more than 3 decades, there were vital areas of our psychological and emotional makeups that our marriages weren't meeting.

They were things I thought I could power through this life without. But suddenly, we both discovered the reason we were so drawn to one another is that Wesley and Buttercup had that special kind of chemistry very few people do, and even fewer manage to connect over.

If I had to do a survey, I'd guess that of a million couples, two or three probably have that person in their lives that just lights them on fire. And continues to through the course of their life. Most of us are simply soldiering on because there is true comfort in being together with a longtime partner. Even when, maybe especially when, there are challenges.

Most love stories, I believe, are about that initial passion that we all feel for each other when we connect. It's as common as white bread. But, when you meet a person, and they light up your mind and your body and then continue to do so for thirty years, they are a keeper. You can't let that go.

Even if you can't keep them.

And I did pretty good for a long time. But once, wine pierced the lover's veil, I don't think there was any going back.

She was burned out from a lifetime of raising a family and existing in on the edge of an emotional cliff. Doing what she could to meet those mental and emotional needs that every woman has and some have more profoundly.

And I was burned out from a lifetime of self-sacrifice that never felt reciprocated and existing on the edge of an emotional cliff. Doing what I could to shelve my desire for feeling whole, to be seen and respected. Something every man needs, some need it more profoundly than others.

Buttercup and Wesley were really two sides of the dame coin. It was the first time Wesley understood that the concept of a soulmate wasn't just a fictional construction.

The End of The Beginning

Now, it's important to understand, Buttercup and I had and have every intention of maintaining our decorum and faithfulness to our mates. I welcome you to bandy terms like emotional infidelity as much as you care. But, I counter that some forces simply can't be stopped.

I know, I tried. She tried. Everyone tried.

After that spark over wine and amaretto, we explored through music and conversation while we came to understand the feelings were not just a lark, but something deeper and more foundational. Our souls were entwined.

This wasn't a choice. It's like when a plant feels sunshine. Do you blame the plant for growing? You can put it in the dark. But, I'm sure you know how that goes.

The very knowledge of Wesley and Buttercup's existence was all it took for those roots to grow and become entwined.

So, what did those two mature, adult people do?

Yep, they put themselves in the dark. For nearly two years. And I can't speak for Buttercup, but I can tell from Wesley's point of view. It was miserable. My depression deepened, the burnout kept burning and I just buried my hurt with work. A woman, and a family that I loved were ripped from my life. Not some lustful want, but people that I considered family. Who I cared about and worried about whenever I saw weather blowing their way.

But, good dog that I am, I understood it was better for everyone.

Only, tides effect everyone for good and bad. My mental health was not improving in her absence. I was growing increasingly frustrated with my peers lack of support and my task load was becoming untenable. It had been, but my willingness to carry an impossible load was wearing out.
So, when I heard from her in 2024, it was like someone finally gave me a drink after being lost in the desert.

I was invigorated. The one human being who seemed to get me, to understand me and that I could understand had re-ingratiated us to their lives. I was a new man. Happy again for the first time sine the split and believing I was going to be okay.

That lasted until the fall of 2024 when I finally reached the end of my mental rope. I had a massive mental and emotional breakdown. I stopped working, I stopped nearly all of my volunteer work, I sought counseling and took 6 months to reassess my place in the universe.

I cut off my ties with my dear old friend. Feelings had gotten out of control between us and we both understood the jeopardy we were placing ourselves in. MY conscience was eating me alive. I was scared my good was in real danger of getting washed away.

What I found was that the counseling was a joke. it was less, how can I help you and more judge and jury. The one takeaway i carry with me: I'm not doing that again. Maybe different counselors would be different, but if you go to the circus, don't be surprised when the clowns squirt water at you.

My depression got worse. WAY worse than it had ever been. I wanted to escape my life more than ever. It was abject misery. I stopped eating. I stopped answering my phone. The one task I could stay on was a van conversion I started right before my burnout.

So I focused my energies there. I poured thousands of dollars and hours into making it the best camper I could.

it was good therapy. But it wasn't enough.

Toward the end of the year, I reached out again to Buttercup. Again, I felt renewed. Happy—functional. But that only lasted a few weeks when my second heart got advice that she was on thin ice and she pulled the plug. It was good, the truth is, my feelings of guilt said 'stop' but I couldn't... or more accurately, did't want to.

Then my sister died. Suddenly and tragically. We were absolutely devastated. She was the heart of her family, the grease of my whole group of relatives. I was suddenly dealing with the loss of two very deep loves in my life. The depression could not be stayed or even managed.

My wife and I struggled for months and just as we started to see sunshine, her father died. My wife's one man that she trusted and relied on finally was gone. he'd been sick for 3 years at that point and his care was exhausting, but still, it was a second devastation for her.

This stuff was mounting. And overwhelming me.

Buttercup and spoke some again. Just a few weeks once more, when her family advised we disconnect. It was becoming a theme. But it was no less punishing to have her missing again.

Then my wife got gravely ill. She nearly died from a septic infection and after spending nearly two weeks in hospital, I was despondent. Adding insult to injury, I came to realize that I hadn't worked in nearly 9 months. Our savings were gone and we were living on our cash stores we kept to run the business. By the end of August, we would be completely bankrupt.

The pressures were too much. I started having panic attacks and was on the edge of complete disability.

That was when I made the decision to involved a medical professional. Thankfully, she was able to keep me functional, if not happy. Then I heard from Buttercup. And I started to flourish again.

You can see why, this woman feels like such a vital force to me. I'm not a homebody. Though I consider myself an introvert, I have ambivert tendencies, so can be the life of a party when needed. I make friends readily and have MANY. Yet, in my nearly 40 years as an adult, one woman seems able to dredge me to happiness with little more than a smile or a kind word. She is not critical, she is a cheerleader. She was—she is—my cheerleader.

And I think that if that was all she was, and all I was for her, everyone would be fine. But our families are worried we can't keep it in our pants, to be colloquial.

IF yo ask me (no one did), the smart money is, keep everyone close. Involve our mates and families and keep communication free and robust. But, I don't think anyone is as important to anyone else as Buttercup and Wesley are to each other. For them, it is less a want and more a need.

Everyone else, it's easy to just say, 'Yeah, we'll miss you, but you go live your life, and we'll live ours.'

They get their sunshine. They can thrive.

I cannot. At least not enough to do more than keep me on life support.

So, when Buttercup's love of her life intervened again on her behalf, I was, once again gutted. Eviscerated. What's missing this time is the embarrassment at making what I perceive to be an unwise decision. I'm simply exhausted of being tired and sad. If I can't find happiness somehow, like the plant in the dark, I will shrivel and die.

And I so understand this is probably too much for Buttercup. That she's got to protect her own mental health and emotional balance. And if that means, leaving me on the shelf, I do not fault that. She has plenty of love in her life. Real love that comes unquestioned from her children and adopted family.

My circumstance is different. My Marigold's mental illness means keeping people at arms length on the best of days. General isolation most of the other time. So, it's much harder for me to find light. I will do the best I can. I know Buttercup and Wesley don't end up together in this story. It's mostly about Wesley figuring out how to exist in a universe where her magnetic field isn't there to keep things stable.

So, what transpired last night, was Wesley confronting suddenly and unexpectedly, the end of the relationship that probably should have never existed. I'm a romantic. I don't use logic. That powerful linear wisdom. My thinking is in colors and smells.

So. Sometimes I drink. Heavily and rage against the dying of the light. I've tried everything. Nothing takes this away. Time—maybe a decade or two will soften it. But, I don't think I have the fuel in the tank to live another 10 years without being seen.

Huh! I always thought the story of the invisible man was just that he was insane. I only know realized it was the psychology of it that drove him there. I'll bet the author read some research and cooked up that whole story. Bravo Mr Ellison! I think I'll look into you.

I know this story is ugly and even a little sordid. That a good man should be faithful to one woman no questions asked. I agree. But this life is imperfect as are our minds and bodies. We're doing the best we can.

If that's not enough. It's not enough. I'm okay with that.

I said some things over the weekend to her that I shouldn't have. My friend Whiskey loosed my honesty to 100%. Something I've never actually done with a human before. Not even Marigold.

That honesty was ill-timed and unwanted. But it told her how dangerous I really am. Especially with the SSRI's. They seem to quell that part of my brain that nags me to be good all of the time. I'm happy to have it quiet, but it' got me into trouble with one soul I found happiness with again.

Her final message was a trigger. She was about to take off on another journey.

“Think of me flying away into the sunset.”

Oh, god.

Below here is a drunken rant I launched into last night out of desperation. I was 10 shots in before I stopped and passed out. A lot of it is incomprehensible drivel. But, I'll leave it here because, honesty. Write like everyone you know is dead, right?

Sometimes I wish it was me.

Welcome to the shit-show.

I ruined it.

Congratulations wolf. Good job.

Idiot.

Don’t be a romantic boys and girls. Don’t be an artist. Be something cool. Be an accountant. Be a lawyer. Be a pilot. Be a doctor. Insert your own high-paying intellectually stimulating career.

Willie Nelson knew. That’s why he admonished avoiding cowboying for a living.

They have hot wives (or husbands, no sexism here), drive classic cars, and live in gorgeous homes. Artists try to sell it as ‘livin’ in the now, man’. But know what? We’re lying to everyone. Ourselves most of all. We are just trying to feed the emptiness we feel. Like everyone but with less cool stuff.

Only dumbasses use their heart in life. The smart ones throw their heart into the fire and get on with building empires.

Being a romantic is romantic. It isn’t reality. Realty is being alone in a crowded life.

Artists are just slaves.

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Fudge. Yes, I cleaned it up. Sober wolf is feeling a little less.

What a good boy am I.

EVERYTHING else is misery. God bless you for making smarter decisions than me.

God, I’m such a moronnnnnnnnnn.

You can’t conceive, amigo.

I’m an idiot.

I’m THE idiot.

Let’s see, 2 shots down, 6 to go. See you in the ER.

Is now a good time to tell you about being in love with two women? One of which actually makes me happy… the other out of duty and obligation?

I think it’s a good way to show you my monster.

I wish happiness didn’t mean constantly denying the self. I mean, it’s been a danged lifetime here.

How many times can I hear the same conversation? Or listen to my peers use 4 words when one will do? And that is saying something because I LOVE words.

Somebody kill me please. Pretty pretty please.

I love you. All of you. But some of you more.

A lot more.

As for the rest of you? to quote my good compatriot, Bilbo:

“I don't know half of you half as well as I should like; and I like less than half of you half as well as you deserve.”

Welcome: to a realtime implosion. Or explosion, depending on the physics and mental clarity.

Damned. I didn’t see this coming. What the hell.

Well, now I can write my novel. I don’t have anything else to do. Thanks to my wife, my visceral energies can be used for writing.

Thanks, babe. Appreciate all that drive and time to just use my fingers for good works.

And thanks to an old friend, my girlfriend is now indefinitely engaged.

What did I think was going to happen? Somebody had to suffer a defeat. To lose at monopoly. It would be he who had no legal or moral, certainly no ethical podium.

I’m usually so good at it. It sure feels hard this time. Harder.

That’s what she said.

You know, my dad always said one day it would matter. Well, dad, had you been a better roll model, perhaps I’d have listened instead of putting my hope in a cataclysm. And, if I’m honest, I’m beginning to wonder where the hell it is.

I thought I could do this indefinitely, but guess what? Someone finally showed me what it felt like to be loved.

Had.

No.

Idea.

Boys and girls? Don’t marry the first person who is nice to you. Don’t have sex with them either. But if you must, don’t commit the rest of your existence to them. You can’t possibly know who you are at 18 or 19. Jeez, I'd argue you still don't know at 30. Call me at 50, you're starting to comprehend that. you are in fact a human being and not a walking vegetable.

A human popsicle, to quote Corban Dallas.

You’ll wake up one day at 50 and wonder why you’re a caregiver and not a lover.

If you do, and you’re LUCKY, that’s all you’ll ever know. Ignorance and bliss and all. Because IF someone comes along and pierces the veil of real grown-ass passion, you are sunk. You know the stuff in books and movies and songs? Turns out that's not just fantasy.

You might say, 'DUH'. But try living in a box your whole life. Imagine how surprised you'd be when one day someone opens the lid and you learn there is sun.

Yeah. Exactly.

It’s all you’ll think about day and night. Your body will change. You’ll find want again and your brain will boil with desire. You’ll think about them from the moment you wake until you pass out from lust.

You will rediscover that you can be happy. Not just content.

Then you’ll dream about them. In ways you never did with your first.

And, insult to injury, WHEN true love leaves you (because it has too, it belongs to someone else who has no idea what they have) you’ll be stuck suddenly knowing not just what REAL LOVE felt like, but now you’ll get to face the hell that is their absence.

It’s an unfillable hole.

God. Beware he who is standing.

Have you ever thought about poor Samson? All that he gave up and then that…. Well, let’s call her the love of his life, her heart could never truly be with him.

I like how in the Bible, Samson destroys the temple for Jehovah. But you know what? Go sell crazy somewhere else dude, we’re all full up here. He really did it because he tasted that feeling and felt the nuclear burn when she chose someone else.

His death was a blessing.

The REAL problem with being 100% honest with anyone is that you don’t hold anything back for yourself.

So, when things go sideways or upside down or whatever direction they go, you got nothing. You are buried.

Your Converse and your 501s won’t bring you a stitch of comfort when you’re sleeping alone on the floor of an empty room.

Some reward for a life well lived.

Maybe, get the brass ring instead. At least then you won’t be working at Walmart in your 60s because you never thought you needed to think about the direction of your life.

I’m starting to understand Burkowski better and better.

Sigh.

What do you do if you feel hopeless? I guess get up and get dressed and do what ppl expect of you. At least they’ll be edified by showing up.

Alcohol.

“This too shall pass” my friends keep saying. But, you know what?

It doesn’t pass. Or when it does. Another thing comes.

No, misery is here to live. The sooner I accept it the sooner I can start drinking myself to death like my grandfather and his grandfather before him. Why deny heritage?

What did Joe Walsh say? Drink to remember, dance to forget?

Bottoms up.

I watched someone grow to a sun in my life. Now, they’re just a tiny green dot, and I’m mortified that will set too.

It’s like living on the dark side of the moon.

Hell yes. Motorcycles and heartbreak are a good combination. The speed, the edge of life, the vibration. An hour on a bike doesn't cure a damned thing, but God, does it feel good to be on the edge for a little while. An escape from the mundane of daily life.

Was that 5 or 6. Stay tuned campers. Same bat-channel same bat whisky.

AHAHAHAHAAHAHAHAAHAHAHAAHAHAHAHAHAAHHAAHAHAHAHAHAAHAHAHAHAHAHAHHAHAHAHAHAHHAHHAHHHAHHAHAHHAHAHHAHAHAHAH.

What is best in life?

Also, something something.... it made sense when I started, but I l forgot looking for the conan gif. You prudes probably haven't seen it. Go watch. Classic sword and sorcery.

What is best is to suffer. That's how you know your a hero. Your life sucks. And every sweet color gets drained away by some superior jerk. I should konw, I was the superior jerk many times. Righteous. That's the pejorative the right love.

Good men... well, they get it wrong constantly. And when they meet Jesus, and he's all like sorry, brah, you don't make the cut.

So. Be. It.

We did the best we could. You righteous men and ladies can rule the earth. The rest of us just won't care, and I doubt youll miss us anyway.

My wife: “are you okay? You seem depressed. Are you going through something?”

Me: “psshhhh! What? Naw, babe, I'm fine. What would i be going through. My life is great.”

I'm stuck in Dust Meridian so you can love your mother, my idiot parents and my retarded sister are waiting for me to swoop in and care for them all in the next 5 years. The best Job i could hope for paid $17 an hour. All of my peers here think My theories are jokes and wonder why I don't want to tall about foooosballlllll.

Of course, i'm super-thrilled.

My escape hatches keep closing and getting buried.

The last thing I can talk to her about is my problems. She gets mad at me if I admit anything is off kilter. Depressed? Blamed for negative thinking. Want something different? Why can't I just be happy with what I have.

At this point, the greatest thing I have to look forward to is a big-ass pile of stones over my corpse.

But. no. I'm great. How are you? Oh! You want a new sweatshirt? No problem. I want the best for you.

Isn't it summer?

I need you more than I want you and I want you all of the time.

I ran out of whiskey, switched to rum. I prefer the burn of whiskey. It's like a righteous punishment for be an jerk.

You can get addicted to a certain kind of sadness

But you didn't have to cut me off
Make out like it never happened and that we were nothing
And I don't even need your love
But you treat me like a stranger and that feels so rough
No, you didn't have to stoop so low
Have your friends collect your records and then change your number
I guess that I don't need that, though
Now you're just somebody that I used to know

I think I'm worried that this time it's for real.

I thought that before. But this feels different. I was a different kind of stupid.

And that's saying something beause different kind of stupid is my SOP. (standard operating procedure).

That means I found NEW levels of stupidity.

The funny thing about new levels of new levels is that—

How come the best people in our lives all become people we used to know while they get replaced with a steady stream of morons?

Wait... aren't i a moron?

10p-2am every night. Those are my special moron-moments. I'm just a regular moron the other 20 hours of the day.

Maybe we should team up and play Cyrano de Bergarac. I could make you look SOOOOO good, bro. Let me be a footnote.

The best people are usually composites.

Hey man, if that's what it takes to get her to happiness, call me.

I am a moron after all.

In honor of my loss, I hereby delcare my two favorite films:

Perks of Being a Wallflower (I am one anyway)

Chasing LIberty (I live in a state of bloody unhinged)

Ladies and gentlemens.. we have achieved SHOT S3V3N!!!

Leaving shortly to watch F1. Nothign better for a broken heart than V-12 open wheel racing.

Me an Brad Pitt, we're tight. Like a brother, he is. From an adopted family I've never met.

Is this a 2month thing? or are we finished for good? I wasn't clear on that portion of the termination contract.

Welcome to hell, ladies and gentlement.

I'm out for a movie. And shots 7 and 8. I'll update from the theater. Missing her. But here for the implosion of a man who once thought he was a pretty big deal, but realized he's just a dumbass.

gentlemen, start your engines.

I’m falling

Falling

O
O
O
O
O
O
Ilo

O
I
I
I
I
I
O
O
O
O

Look at the archive. There’s juice in that history gang.

Forgetting is a powerful tool.

Otherwise, I’ll keep being a punk.

—

I just confessed to a bartender.

He told me, “three Hail Mary’s or 4 Makers marks.

Does anyone know short the limit of human.

Now I’m at n9

I told him my girlfriend chose her husband over me.

He took pitty. But what he really took was the avenue that would land him a good tip.

No one feels sorry for a cheater. But everyone loves a good tipper.

I think I’ll go be a race carDriver.

Live fast die young. Idoit boys do it well.

Too late a-hole.

gentlemen... your engines are running.

Here I thought I’d see a tattoo.

Instead, I’m stuck in prudeland.

Someone please rescue me.

30 y is a life sentence. I’m

I'm
I'm
I'm
I'm
I'm
I'm
I'm

broken.

“we LovE you” they all say. But how do they show it? Distance. Quiet. Confusion when I am honest. teh message?

Keep y mouth shut and my head down.

Bury it in scotch and whisky. I hate this place. I'm tired of these people who say I'm so 'this' and so 'that'. Mister-fancy-pants. In reality, I'm just broken.
Broken.
Broken.
Broken.
Broken.
Broken.
Broken.
Broken.
Broken.
Broken.
Broken.
Broken.
Broken.
Broken.
Broken.
Broken.
Broken.
Broken.
Broken.
Broken.
Broken.
Broken.
Broken.
Broken.
Broken.

B
R

Gooooooooooo

Tooooooooooo
Many.

Uhg.

Brad crashed.
why ahy
Why
Why
why
Why
Why
why
Why
Why
Why
why
Why
Why
why
Why
Why
why
Why
why
Why

9 is the egging LIMIT.

Can’t take more

Or stand ip

I just hope I don’t vomit.

Christ. Why did I thing this was a good idea?

I’m dying.

Please cover me with stones.

I’m a lost soul living in a fish bowl.
Year after year.

I could swim out past the breakers, watch the world die.

Red neck white trash garbage.

🥵❤️‍🔥💔❤️‍🩹🖤

Help
Me!!

I’m lost. Can someone mail me a map?

Alas.

Alas

Alas.

Alas

Please desire me!?!?

It is all
I ask my love.

Alas.

Alas Alas

Brads winning at the movies

I’m losing at life.

I’ve tried. I’ve tried.

I did it
All right.

But I just can’t get ahead.

I’m

There isn’t enough alcohol in the world to kill this.

1:03am

13,5 oz and 5h and all I have is heartache and a headache. 🤕

Missery
Misery
Misery
Misery
Misery
Misery
Misery
Misery
Misery
Misery
Misery
Misery
Misery
Misery
Misery
Misery
Misery
Misery
Misery
Misery
Misery
Misery
Misery
Misery
Misery
Misery
Misery
Misery
Misery
Misery
Misery
Misery
Misery
Misery
Misery
Misery
Misery
Misery

IT IS 1:34am CST. my head is down. my mind is focused in one place and it's a bad one.

Pity party over.

WolfCast Home Page – Listen, follow, subscribe

Thank you for coming here and walking through the garden of my mind. No day is as brilliant in its moment as it is gilded in memory. Embrace your experience and relish gorgeous recollection.

Into every life a little light will shine. Thank you for being my luminance in whatever capacity you may. Shine on, you brilliant souls!

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