I'm sick. Very sick. I can barley use my voice and because of the cloud that is forming inside of my head, my thoughts jump rather quickly from the present to the past, to what i am going to eat for lunch. I think that is sort of accurate. i think mel is in a bit of haze, jumping from her present to her past, back to wether she should have just one more dirty martini. She's getting older. everyone can see it. he loves her. she loves him. fuck that bitch who butted into my relationship earlier. why can't i jsut be sweet? why wasn't i just born sweet? one of those people that everyone talks about when you leave in a good way? like him. like dante. everyone loves dante. always has. magnetic. perfect personality. effortless. i hate him. i have to try so hard, and then trying only hurts me. but man did HE love me. that made me feel good. a man that everyone loved so much loved me. thought the world of me. but i couldn't take it. good at everything, always flyign high. im not like that. i have dark places. and i get lost in their caves. and i got mad at him for not having them. elise. shes gorgoeous. she looks ten years yonger than me. shes happy. constantly happy. fearless. careless. god it's cold in here. my feet hurt. i want another drink. i want a cigarette. who is this guy in the glasses losing it right in front of me? are there drugs at this party? i want some. god my feet hurt. suck it up. the shoes'll stop hurting after just one more martini. where is sam. sweat sam. my lovely sam. he'll leave me too, sooner or later, and onyl then will i realize what i lost. man, i'm pretty drunk. i want a cigarrette.
Man. my feet realy hurt.