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stream of unconciousness

stream of unconciousness

So much to do, so much to do.

So why am I sitting here in a daze, doing nothing?

I keep feeling like I'm losing my footing, as if I the world is slipping away beneath my feet and I will fall on my face any moment.

That's literally, not figuratively. I walked through the wet parking lot today in tippy toe baby steps because I had this crazy idea that I was going to trip and fall if I didn't.

On the list of things to do: Buy underthings. Shoes. Chain smoke. Haircut. Have panic attack. Pick Nancy up at airport. Shoes, damn it. DJ can't wear sneakers and he has no shoes. Shoes for me, shoes for DJ. Worry that my outfit doesn't stand up well next to Justin's $400 suit. Fuck that, I'm going to look great. And if I don't, you will all pretend I do. Cry. Chain smoke. Sacrifice a virgin to the weather gods. Drink. Drink. Smoke. Drink. Smoke. Pace. Take Excedrin. Take the Hello Kitty vibrator off the wedding registry list. Explain vibrator concept to relatives. Or not. Empty bank account. Empty wallet. Empty piggy bank. Write overdrawn checks. Execdrin, NyQuil, Marlboro Menthol Lights, Tequila. Check, check, check, check. Pick up Paxil from pharamcist. Oh christ, could you imagine if I ran out of Paxil now? Stop writing stream of concious thoughts. Vows. Write vows instead. Plan ceremony with comedian/judge. Turn 40. Get married.

And after that whole checklist is done there is this. A luxurious room with a king-sized bed and a balcony overlooking the Long Island Sound.

Until then, just keep giving me cigarettes, porn and filled shotglasses. I'll make it until Sunday somehow.


hold in there.
and worry not; I'm still coming in October.

Apparently, the Paxil doesn't work so well. =)
Just chill! If it rains, so what. If your shoes don't exactly match, so what. If you run out of cigs, so what. If DJ wears sneakers, so what. If you trip and fall on your face, so what. If you run out of tequila, so... um... nevermind that one.

You're going to rock.
and rock and rule and rule and rock.

It's predestined, I promise. All you have to do is show up. And get DJ some shoes.

Kiss Nancy for me, and Nancy, kiss Michele ok?

Hang in there and drink a lot. It will all seem better, even if it's not.

"Sacrifice a virgin to the weather gods"

Scratch that one...too hard to find candidates.

You'll be just fine.

Why the worry about shoes? You're getting married outdoors--go barefoot. Let the kids go bafefoot. And tie bells on your toes, since you'll be getting a ring on your finger.

You can sacrifice me! OK, that was supposed to make you laugh and forget out shoes for a minute!

Where are you, Bon? Albany?

Call me.

Breathe. Drink. Breathe. Drink. Lather. Rinse. Repeat.

YOU SMOKE MENTHOLS??? WTF? Illusions now shattered, I return to my cinderella albums a broken man