So that sucked. I am just returned from a party. I was the first person to leave. Reason? I knew one person there. Said person abandoned me to the wolves (or teeny boppers talking about Britney Spears and pot and pills as the case may be) as soon as we walked in the door, never to return. The wolves, who mostly ignored me, only looked my way in pity, saying that my abandoner was an asshole and how sucky for me. Yeah. No fucking kidding. I hate the fucking suburbs. I hate the fucking human race.

I peeled out of there at the first possible moment and got lost driving home because, as you may or may not know, the suburbs consist entirely of fucking cul-de-sacs. If you know me at all, even a little bit, you must know how I feel about cul-de-sacs. I raged all the way home. I stopped at the convenience store up the street for beer, because on everything that is holy I will drink tonight, and heard, as I was walking out the door, "only drunks come in here at night." I am raging still.

Things I would have preferred to this evening: having dinner with Bathsheba and Peter (why oh why didn't I do this? I am an idiot. A moron. A fool.), going to the lake in the rain, cuddling with Bash who I left all forsaken, creating the syllabus for my class, paying my bills, flossing my teeth, picking the animal hair off my carpeted floors by hand, getting a root canal at a dental school with an audience in an operating theatre.

I quit. I give up trying to make new friends. I like the friends I have. I wish to be in Bathsheba's apartment looking at her things, her books. I wish to be on Frances's front porch drinking Walker Whiskey Sours, listening to Bob Dylan or Tom Waits. I wish to be at the coffee shop with Brittania, discussing our newest poems. I wish to be with J-bird. I wish he were here checking up on me and telling me stories.

God, I've got to move. This will not do.

A bit of joy in the midst of despair: earlier today, during my final smoke break at work, I sat out in my preferred bit of solitary space. When I first walked out there a wee squirrel was wrestling with the lining of one of the chairs. She skittered away when I approached. I sat and read and watched her re-approach. She wrestled, she pulled, she fell all over herself. She could not get it free. I got up, she skittered, I ripped the lining away and repositioned myself in my chair. She waited a moment before coming back. When she finally did, keeping one suspicious eye on me the entire time, she balled up the lining and stumbled off, tripping over the long cloth. Up the stair, into her tree, where Frances's Jeff still has some hidden bits of sculpture hiding out.

Remember that.

I never was meant to be a part of this species, I think. I never did fit.

Time for bed and prayers to St. Sorrow. Good night dear ones.