All of a sudden, we’ve been here for days. I scurry out occasionally for work, and apart from that, it is just us, here. The drinking and fucking is intermittently punctuated by a few hours at the bar, and apart from that, it is just us, everywhere. It occurs to me that this is an incredible departure from the previous tedium of pretending like living the life that the world wants me to live was in any way satisfying. I’d rather disintegrate in this morass of my own making than be pallid and pure and perfunctory for the sake of someone else’s comfort with my life decisions. I’ll roil here for as long as I can, until it kills me, or slips away from me, or either of us are no longer satisfied, which is fine because people change, but until then I am sated on chaos and calamity.