Best. Drive. Ever.

So I got off work tonight fairly early by Pizza Hut standards - roughly 11:15PM - and was looking forward to a nice quiet night with one of Terry Goodkind's Sword of Truth novels. Let me illustrate to you just how accurately the word mercurial describes me and my life.

12:12 AM - Realized that I was showered, dressed and ready to go do something stupid before 1 AM, much earlier than usual. Note that the potential for disaster is much greater the earlier in the evening one finds one's self in.

12:45 AM - Convinced that it's my civic duty as a member of the Inebriated Americans minority, I leave my comfortable little attic in order to procure party favors of questionable moral nature.

1:05 AM - Mission accomplished.

1:15 AM - Arrive at ATM, wondering just what manner of masochistic insanity I was born to.

1:25 AM - Mission very accomplished. With hitherto unrevealed optional objectives completed with military precision and efficiency. And swallowed.

1:45 AM - Primary objective (see also: substances) consumed in the loosest possible definition of the word. My lungs hurt, and I am happy.

2:15 AM - Secondary objective beginning to make driving somewhat problematic. Reflectors are becoming flashers. I begin to question whether or not driving down a quasi-major state road is wise. Ignoring all common sense, I opt for an alternate route.

2:25 AM - Fuck arriving anywhere, I begin to question whether or not I'm existing on the same plane of reality as everyone else.

2:35 AM - Arrive at Will's. Theory of alternate planar occupation confirmed. I stare at the ceiling fan for an indeterminate amount of time.

2:40 AM (or thereabouts) - On the way through Emily's pitch black hallway to smoke a cigarette, I realize that I can still see the fucking lightbulb.

2:45 AM - Nicotine, in conjunction with whatever cocktail I have flowing through my system and making me feel like one of them thar gall dern hippies, is the greatest of man's injustices visited upon himself. I sing Great Big Sea's version of The End Of The World. Will is several levels of unimpressed, yet at the same time maintaining an obvious, almost clinical interest in my current state of mind. I close my eyes and smile like an idiot.

3:00 AM - I venture outside for another cigarette. Life is still better than it has been in months. Will continues staring.

3:15 AM - A brief period of lucidity wherein, as of the time of this writing, I vaguely recall having an intelligent, coherent conversation, the topic of which escapes me. In all likelihood, this is due to a horrible misrepresentation of the facts on the part of my memory. I do, however, still maintain that man should have been invented with a gland for this shit.

3:30 AM - During the writing of this entry and after reading through the preceding portion of the time table, it occurs to me that man was invented with a gland for this shit, albeit in significantly lower doses. Further inspection of the facts causes leads me to the conclusion that man got gypped. I continue clenching my jaw and smiling like an idiot.

3:35 AM - Struggling to think of a way to somehow anticipate events so as to commit them to this entry prior to actually experiencing them, thus leaving me with more time to do so, I acknowledge that certain hormones are racing through me at such a rate as to imply that my internal sound barrier should be breaking. Curiously, I also realize that for the first time since I was roughly eleven years old, I seem to have a sort of psychological detachment to the fact that my body desperately wants to spend time with something blond, skinny and orally fixated.

3:42 AM - Screw it. I'll just have Will tell me about all the mindnumbingly stupid shit that I do and say tomorrow morning/afternoon. More to come.