this weekend i plan to get drunk. not just drunk. i plan to get fucked up. fucked up. i plan to get fucked up by drinking inordinate amounts of alcohol. i plan to call people who have inordinate amounts of alcohol and i plan to talk to them casually and then bring up their ownership of alcohol and the exact inordinate amount of it that they own. i plan to take a long awkward drive into the woods where this person will live and where there will be a party and i plan to sit on a filthy couch outside by a bonfire, drinking budweiser which will taste like shit and i will not talk to anyone and continue to nurse my watery drink and make a pile of crushed beer cans next to the couch so that when people look at me they will only see me sitting on the couch, quietly looking at my feet and with a giant pile of beer cans next to me and they will think that i am "troubled" or "deep" and then i will look up shyly, flinch, and look back at my feet. i plan for the alcohol to finally take effect because even water with alcohol will eventually get you drunk. i will begin to feel more comfortable with myself and then i will imagine that i am a camera lense and i will watch everyone like they are a reality TV show and i will laugh at their nuances and i will not be afraid to stare and not take them seriously because they are only television characters, i will remind myself. then i will stumble to my car with only one sock on my left foot. when i get into my car i will be sure to put on my seatbelt but i will get tangled in it and look like cosmo kramer and it will be funny to the television audience watching at home. the seatbelt will wrap itself around me in a strange way so that it will squeeze my stomach and i will throw up all over myself, my car, and the cute girl who was noticing me on the couch by the bonfire with the mountian of beer cans next to me the entire evening. she will walk up to me like she is going to take care of me and trying to remember every detail to one day tell her friends about the 'sweetest' guy she ever met. but then when i throw up on her she will be stand there not knowing what to do and i will look and see a television character covered in vomit and i will laugh with the rest of the television audience.

***

i decided the name of my novel. it will actually be a series of micro-novels with hopefully some kind of arch. it will also have some short short short stories and maybe haikus and poems. or maybe not. i think a lot of it will be derived from posts on this blog.

it's funny writing on here, trying to be a writer. this is funny, i think. i take myself too seriously. a lot of sites do not seem to like my stories. this is funny to me. i work very hard and it's funny that this does not translate. i am not complaining. i am laughing. a mouth can't laugh and complain at the same time. i am laughing. i must laugh at this.

at the casino today i got my $5 and sat in the food court. i was very excited because usually all the tables are taken up by the old people and these fuckers camp. out. i found a table and i sat and read about typology and i usually can't read with noise but the casino is a very comforting place. all the machines going off and the smoke. it's very pretty sound to me.

it has become a hassle to bring my backpack into the casino. it always gets checked. i don't like this. i got in trouble the other day because i brought in crackers. i bought these crackers because i was hungry and i biked all the way to the casino from the grocery store with these crackers in my backpack.

i rode my bicycle into town again and i really can't think of anything more pleasurable. today i drove by the small farmer's market at the park that goes on every tuesday, friday, and saturday. i thought about buying an apple and eating it while riding my bicycle because today is pretty outside but none of the stands sold apples. only asparagus. onions. and radishes.

this is no kind of meal for a pretentious short story writer, i said. and i biked away.