Friday, December 4, 2015


Many of you longtime readers and friends know that I don't drink and write. I'm horrible at that kind of thing. I don't make sense when I try shit like that. Every once in a while, I will drink and edit. It helps to distance myself from my own work, to make me feel like I'm editing a stranger's work. But write and drink? It has not happened in ten years because it doesn't work.

Until now. For my secret project, I've been drinking and writing. I can't get into the proper headspace without it. It's a special brand of writing that requires being fucked up. I don't feel possessed without it. If I'm just sitting there in front of my computer and typing, it just doesn't feel right unless I've had three shots of whiskey and a beer before writing. At the least. Sometimes some Wild Irish Rose helps. Thankfully this is not going to be a novel. It won't destroy me. Just so long as I can get through the next week of writing in this weird altered state, I think I can survive.

It's weird being in someone else's head, especially the head of a dead man. I'm OK with that kind of thing when they're fictional characters, but when they're real life people, it fucks with me. I don't think I'll ever do this again. It's taking a toll on me. It's fun, but I think if I ever do this again, it will destroy me. Because . . . well . . . it's not just the drink.

Here's the weird, fucked up thing: I'm not getting paid for this gig. I'm doing it for the challenge. It's fucking with me in ways I can never say. It consumes my every thought, and I wonder if I should have ever been given all the medication I've been given all these years. Some are painkillers, and some are psychotic drugs given me because they have an effect on the strange digestion I suffer from.

What am I saying? Well shit. I've always been honest with these GF's. I'm not going to stop now. I don't recommend acting in this way, but it works for me. Shit, it might not even work for me. I don't know what I'm babbling about.

I'm almost done with this story. I think I'll be done in a week, and then I'll stop this nonsense. I won't have a reason to continue after this. I would not be doing this without needing to write this story. I have every confidence that I will stop this when I'm done. Besides, what doctor would give me more drugs to continue this madness? I'm not good at getting drugs on the street, so I won't be able to continue.

Shit. If this story sucks, I'm fucked. All of this will be for nothing. But I feel confident. I read everything I've written every day, and I think it's good. I hope it's all worth it.

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