Minnie Mouse Confessional.

I've been drinking too much lately.

Dreaming about ex-boyfriends suffocating me with garbage bags while I'm walking through the 96th street station at midnight. Waking up sober, gasping for air. Remembering the previous night in movie flashbacks of a woman with a Jew-fro who looks remarkably like me. Feeling reborn and infantile in the morning sun. Going to work and coming home and paying rent and feeling like I'm playing house in the life I created for myself.

Doing silly things at night, like climbing on stage for a Zombie costume contest dressed as Minnie Mouse, posing with the umbrella I bought when it rained on the Halloween parade. As if it were intentionally part of my ensemble. Getting mad when I don't win because a) I had the most applause and b) Minnie Mouse is the best zombie that ever existed.

Stupid, clumsy things, like saying "I love you" during sex, when I meant to say "I love that" and feeling irreparably awkward. For a whole five seconds. Falling down stairs, arguing with strangers, pushing boundaries I didn't know existed. Feeling strong, feeling potential, feeling nothing. Feeling everything in a wind tunnel. Feeling the whole world shake around me.

It's been...fun.

But I think my ducks are just about ready to start forming rows. (Good looks, ducks. You took it there. Ties and everything!)  Which means that my short, very blogged-about liquor affair is coming to a close.

I don't mean cold turkey sobriety. I'm a vegetarian, and I don't eat turkey. What I mean, quite frankly, is this:




Oh, and Frenchman? Apparently pretty fond of the Bat Shit Insane variety. More updates to come.