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12-16-01 - 12:48 a.m. Sitting here sucking down iced vodka with lemon extract, blasting the blues station and staring into space, it has come to my attention that I am a grade-A loser. And you know what? I don't care. I'm not happy living this way, but I'm no less happy now than I would be were I out there doing productive things and trying to better myself. Trust me. I've done the former, and it's no more fulfilling to me than the latter. I think I'm going to take a road trip. Except I won't drive. I'll get on a Greyhound bus and go to...Memphis. I have no reason to go to Memphis and nobody I know to shack up with, so it would be an adventure. I'd get a job washing dishes and at night, do something like sing in a bar. When I care enough to try, I can sing fairly well. My voice is sort of low (though I can sing very high) and would be best suited, I think, for blues or rock music. Which is excellent, because I love blues and rock music. But I wouldn't want to plan this trip, because spontanaiety is exactly what I would be going for. Just to add some syncopation to the rhythm of my life. Ah, who am I kidding? Tomorrow I will wake up here, at home, just exactly as boring as I am today. I need to get out of here. San Diego is stifling me. I'm stifling me. I'm suffocating yet unable to remove the icy hands from around my fragile neck. I'm such a geek. I don't even know what date it is.
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