What Wine Won't Cure

So, I'm sitting here on the telephone, talking to yet another random boy, listening to him blah blah blah about what am I doing tonight, and without my trusty glass of wine in hand, I have to say being alert sucks more than losing a potato sack race to the eldest Brady children. Why, oh why, can't I be drunk and subdued? At least if I were tipsy I could fake compassion and humility. I wouldn't be sitting here listening to this guy remember things I never told him.It seems this is the case as of late. I'm not bored. I'm not at all depressed.

On the contrary, I'm actually quite relieved. You see, just before I totally snapped under the pressure of my needy friends, I stole away for a much-needed break to regroup and recenter. Thankfully, I did so only seconds before I pulled a Reba McEntire and blew them all to hell in a sailboat. In the last few months, I've been pulling away because people are starting to irritate me with their bitching, their complaining, and their refusal to adapt and grow from the tragedies and mishaps in their lives. My apathy is choking me. I used to care; I used to care deeply, but now I'm to the point where I feel like telling them all not to take the "Lean on Me," song so goddamn literally.

So between issues with the Apple Dumpling Gang, and the many boys who've swept in and out of my life, emptying their baggage on what's left of my innocence like a Hoover set to reverse, I'm just tired and bogged down. More exahausted than Cher during her bout with Chronic Fatigue Syndrome. I'm just a sleepy little fag. And although drinking is not the answer, I have to say, I heart sipping on my wine in the cool glow of the midnight hour and mutilating the shaft of my penis with my left hand. It saves me the trouble of having to show this generation's Bo Dukes and Fred Fllinstones how to give a proper blowjob. "Cup your hand around the head. Now take it between your lips slowly...." Fuck that shit.

A wise old crackwhore once told me, "No one can fuck me better than me...." Oh, wait.....maybe that was Liz. Oh well, same difference. Avoidance is the key to my success as of late. Avoidance and abstinence. Maybe it's selfish of me to steal away and take to the streets solo like Rodney King's bastard lovechild, but I can't help it. Everyone has time to do their own thing and no one questions. When I do it, all hell breaks lose.

I didn't realize that because I've alwayys been the first to give guidance and advice, I was being held to a different standard than everyone else I know. I don't like this, sir. Not one little bit. I feel like the fattest kid in the neighborhood, just a nickel short of an ice cream sandwich.