I have discovered, or concluded through haphazard self guinea pigging experimentation, that whilst trench deep in this gripping depression, imbibing booze allows for suicidal thoughts to gain favor.

Tuesday night the fellas chime after work for some hang time. Tuesday was a chore and bills paying day. Was feeling the rewarding groove. Dusted off the rags and skipped over to Luke's crib.

The night before, I had passed out around eight in the morning, arguing with myself for near four hours under the sheets before exhaustion ended the debate. Unaffable reflected glare from the flaming deathball in the sky jolted me irrevocably awake around eleven in the morning. Hours later, walking down the sidewalk like I was traversing creeks of runny old oatmeal. Delerium had me believe phantom pedestrians were keeping pace on my heels. Thought a pug nosed toy dog mockingly smirked at me.

Luke and Javier were prebaked before I entered the foray. I declined puff. Imagining ugly digital photographic evidence of my eyes rolling back into my skull, and slumping over whatever closely resembled a collection of cushions directly after exhaling the lantern's smoke. Close up shot of the drool puddle formed around my chin. Heisman stance on the rotation.

As it was, didn't take long before I was maxing on my back, using Luke's worn leather basketball as a pillow. Allowing my lids to lightly drape over my sight, while I made internal paintings of the ambient conversation. Luke's persistent search for online recordings of prank phone calls was amusing enough to successfully keep me from fading completely into deep dark. That Scooter's Roofing bit always makes me chuckle.

Kevin and Sully come in and out. Kevin avoiding contact high, letting the haze clear, as his urine has been put into question for financial firm employment. Sully has a busy brain, and I am assuming thoughts tug him to and fro. I am similarly afflicted, except slacker enough to not let it motivate my feet. Kevin mentions his birthday will begin at midnight. His fiance, Julie, arrives and we are all invited to celebrate with a few drinks at One And One.

Forgot the Knicks game was on that evening. Walk in to discover the wide screens telling a tied score against Sacramento late in the third. A fine state of affairs against a tough rival. Course, my distraction was punctuated by my numerous curses. Moments of "shit!", "for fuck's sake!" and "great limping christ!" interrupted social talk. As guessed, the Knicks tanked the moment I began viewing the contest. Growling at my brain insisting that cocktails could have me head bobbing in minutes, I heartily welcomed vodka offers. I should've had more faith in my sinister insomnia to plow through pussy ass downers such as alcohol.

Much jovial time was had. Good info from Sully on building my freelance journalist portfolio. Both agreed we should commiserate with Luke on the numerous vacillating media ideas the three of us constantly spawn. Enjoyed Crete reminiscinces with Julie, who's family hails from the Greek isles. After accusing smokers of being addicts, was questioned on my own habits. Told the smoking vixen I was a masturbation junkie. Lockjaw amongst the withdrawal symptoms.

Time to bounce. Luke and Jav try to convince me to continue over at Luke's crib. I decline. Already sucked back enough second hand, my lungs weren't happy.

Another vice I begrudgingly gave up. I honestly enjoyed cigarettes. I know plenty users who say they smoke simply for being hooked, and don't really enjoy the experience at all. I savored the warm intake and expulsion of burnt clouds. Not that I didn't have those proud moments of sucking back a butt while laying down some cable on the john. I looked forward to lighting up. Climbing stairs and waking in the morning with crimson speckles in my lung clams, not so much. So, I am done with that carcinogenic mess.

With three tonics floating around in the belly, I was in the mood for more. Stopped in to see Melissa. She's a serious brat, but easy on the eyes, and that's enough sometimes. She does have darling demure hands. Most likely, thats whats going on at the end of her legs too. Watching her fingers pick tidbits off the bar gets my jeans heated.

Forced a few applejack shots on me. I believe this is where the trouble spawned. A mix of whiskey and saccharine apple liqueur. Didn't stumble out sloppy. Didn't feel jake on the way home either. Snatched provisions at the bodega to sponge up the mess in my tank. The goombahs on the Sopranos began talking in Arabic. I knew it was time for sheets.

Sick sweat. Too cold, too hot. Partially believe the Pucker used in those shots was off. Felt like I was slipped some taint. Drifting in and out of disturbing nightmare fueled languor. Might have collected three hours of ineffectual slumber before giving up the fight in the early afternoon. Every muscle housed simmering embers. An unfun fever took hold.

My body collapsed on the couch during the PBS news portion of the day. My wrist mangled under my jaw. Nostrils sucking in dust from the stiff down pillow. Legs giving constant semiphore commands. Bad nap. That's a bad statement in all. Bad nap. Does anything else sound more cruelly disappointing than a bad nap?

Barely focused on television. Desperately meditating on preventing another punishing panic attack. Ripping my hair out my head. Tears escaped more than I'd like to admit. Decided to try and slide into bed earlier than usual.

The clock said elevenish when I hopped in the sack, said something like five when all cranial parties agreed to show clemency. Battling voices punching me around. Most popular argument was about the impending poverty all will suffer under, having the misfortune of residing in my skull. One voice piped in with bell clarity. It said "you know how you could kill yourself.....". It was pure and honest. It was strikingly sincere. As now, while I retell this story, my entire frame began uncontrollably shaking. First time ever, my sadness reached a level that suggested morbid peace. With all the rabid events ever undergone in my life time, I have never been so frightened.

Fortunately, I possess enough rationality that my loonie emotions don't draw all the pages of my comic book. While under the collapsing cloak of depression, prolly inadvisable to insert additional depressants into the stream. Liquor my love, for the nonce, I shant lick your pussy.

Was out last night. Unhappily refraining from sharing potent toasts with friends. Even went home before I was ordered to do so. Impossible to report that sleep came easy or free from the complaints of imps and goblins. The suicide voice didn't sing in the chorus. That fucker needs his star permenantly yanked off his dressing room. If starving him out is required, then so be it. Forgive me, my tundra gyspy ancestors, the great vodka river must flow without my sword dipped in. I cannot picture a future without you. Worries me there will be no future tales with you written into this current chapter. See you in the denouement.