just because i have been dynamic and i do not update my blog anymore does not mean that i'm dead.
and i'm not one of those weird little shit that calls a hiatus every once in a while for the sake of their attention gratification. sort of like one of those 'HIATUS - need to have more sex. blogging kills my desire for sex'. it doesn't fucking work that way. blogging by itself is a self-sufficient indulgence. it doesn't need extra 3rd party attention or anything else to justify my love for it. nontheless, it's a fucking free country. so you're entitled to do whatever the fuck you like. so i'm also entitled to call you a cunt if i like.
i'm not extra vulgar today. neither have i rediscover the joy of cussing. incidentally, i suspect the amount of alcohol that flows through my veins is doing their job pretty well. according to a very close friend/ex-drinking buddy, i talk black (which is completely normaly) and i cuss at an atrocious rate when i'm happily high/drunk. due to various legitimate reasons (such as i love to drink very much), i knocked down a couple of downers when i was travelling last week.
there is absolutely no way of rejoicing what sort of stuff that i've had till last sunday. so much of my drinking melanoma resurfaced because i had trouble with sleep. the sort that i could sleep without problem but wakes up 3 hours later, with a mixed feeling of rage, exhaustion and confusion. having a few crates of beer at my mercy last sunday, i sort of knocked down two cans in a row at warp speed. anyone with the slightest clue on the semantics of beer know it makes people sky high fast. i slept but i woke up at 430 in the morning. fell asleep again, the up again at 450.
being tired on a monday is the last thing proletariat would need. unwilling to accept the harsh fact that i'm having sleeping disorder (and zoe her salary the same day), zoe and i took another venture to boathouse and drunk the fuck outta ourselves. in our very very fucking sad case, drink the fuck out of ourselves meaning about a bottle of wine due to global inflation inferno and our very small salary cap. i zoned out as soon after i touched my doorknob but i fucking got up at 5fucking30 in the morning. it was not funny, ok.
on wednesday i looked wrecked. looking at a garbage bin combine with the foul smell for an hour would be less disconcerting than a milisecond of glance at me. if there's one thing i could always fall back on, it's alcohol. never has time favour me so much, G and Daniel came from wherever they should come back from and we went out for a long chat (long chat to masquerade our oblivious love for alcohol). yet again, some wines and beers. yet again, i woke up at 5. if i had a gun, i'll go to the nearest mamak and run amok. then eat some roti canai so i'd be so fucking tired i could sleep like a baby.
yesterday, i slept approximately at 10. i woke up at 8. i feel like a happy muthafucker. and it was simply done without the conjugal of any form of alcohol. maybe the vast amount of nangka i ate helped. last note: put your money on argentina for tonight's match.
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2:07 PM
that fucking traitor
liEw, 18 and since 2002, 270lbs, 5ft, brazilian chinese russian icelander hybrid, black eyes, short black hair, racist, antisocial, semi-alcoholic, ignorant, exhales profanity, black-poetry fanatic
