I've had the most tumultuous time these last four days. It's as though I'm on some whirlwind chain of events that will eventually lead up to some climactic ending to a bizarre indie film.
But that's thinking way too hard about things. It's New Years, the artificial starting point for all of us to resolve to be better people. A social construction that allows us to be complete degenerates every year on December 31. Eat one more truffle, drink more drink, do one more line, screw one more ugly man or woman (that you tell your friends about), and ultimately vomit once more into a toilet in a whose house (or city, in some cases) you have no idea.
January 1: A new beginning. We'll be better people in 2007. I'm so disenfranchised right now. So much so that I won't even bother spell checking that word. I've had a carpet pulled from under me - my heart ripped out of my chest and tonight I'll cover that gaping hole in my chest with a shirt that didn't fit me two months ago (21 pounds since November 10... I'm only morbidly obese now) and eat prime rib and drink and find some random girl to make out with at midnight.
So it's pretty much like any given Sunday for the Gooch. The Gooch who is...
out.
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