I'm still not laughing when I look back.

1998.

I walked home, or I walked somewhere, drunk. It was late, before the birds start singing. Her voice came through my voice far too clear,
"you won't be laughing one day."
My body ached. I had worked all day and if I included working at getting drunk, I had been working all night too.
I told her, "All I ever wanted was you."
she told me, "All I ever wanted was to be by myself."
One day you'll understand, one day you'll see that it's not worth fighting for, one day you won't be laughing. It was all proven untrue. I understood, gave up the fight, too tired, wasn't laughing, at night. Sorry babe, I have the final win. You thought you got me, but I tricked you. If my stomach wasn't full of cheap diner food, the alcohol like mercury in my blood, and my head dizzy from a knockout in the 9th, I would laugh all the way to where ever I was going.

Where was I going?

It didn't matter at that point. My drinking buddy was the ghost of christmas past, my only pet, asphalt and cigarettes.
All I ever wanted was you. God damn those feelings. I wanted more to drink but everything was closed except my head. That was wide open, nerves exposed to the sobering air. Fuck sobriety. I would like to be home though. Kick my feet up and drink that fifth of whiskey I know is in a cupboard somewhere.

Where am I going? Balls.

I stopped to stare at a puddle along the curb. I was distracted by the light from the car's headlights. Distracted, that is, from the puddle, which splashed over me as the car flew by. "Fuck this shit." I thought, and decided to find my way home.

Home. God damnit. I thought about faith and jesus for some reason or another. How does jesus always get mixed up in these kinds of things?

I wanted to go to her place. To have something to eat. To take a shower. To curl up next to her in her bed. I would pass out with my shoes still on, and wake up, my head hurting to pieces, with the shoes off and me tucked under the blankets.

The night was ending faster then I could stand. I could practically feel the gravity of the earth spinning to face the sun. That bastard sun. I would throw her things away when I woke up. No, I wouldn't. I would spend the day neatly seperating mine from hers, and wait for her to come collecting. They would be ready to go as soon as she showed. I would pretend to not care, but my face would show all the signs of vain, drunken self pity. She would ask me if I was ok, and I would say yes, of course. I might even smile as she left. Then I would spend a week drinking, waiting by the telephone.

The only person I talked to on the phone that week was a bill collector and a long distance operator.
"may I speak to George?" they always used your first name to trick you into thinking it's a friend. But I knew better, you fuckers.
"he's not in right now." and that ended that.

I tried calling a friend out of state, someone I used to know well. I needed some company, even if it was just a voice on the other end of some wires. I called the operator to place a collect call.
"Thank you for calling sprint, how may I help you?" she sounded about as miserable as I felt. I couldn't take it from other people. My self pity was at least rationalized for myself. Someone elses misery was too much.
"What's with that?" I asked. "You sound so unhappy saying that." she laughed, but it was that kind of nervous laughter. I asked her what she was wearing and how old she was. She told me that the conversation was being recorded and asked what number would I like to dial. At least she didn't tell me all she ever wanted was to be by herself. I gave her the number. She called it, then came back on the line.
"Your collect call was not accepted."
"Ok, thanks." I told her, and hung up.

What street is this?

I tried to visualize breaking the ten commandments in one go. How far would this heavy night take me? Nowhere. I would slip back and forth between delusions of something and the bitter fact that I was by myself, drunk, cold, lost and not laughing about any of it.