Mercredi

I started writing a story, then I decided that I'm tired of always complaining about the same thing.

But I can feel a slight change in this phase of me. Who knows if anything will come of it. I kind of hope something will.

I am enamored with Autumn and all that is included with it: cider; dried corn; crisp, cool air that necessitates the use of sweaters and hoodies; the warm colors of the moist carpeting of leaves on the ground; pumpkins; the settling-in for winter.

Alcohol is good because it allows you to say what you mean, what you've been wanting to say, but what society prohibits you from saying. And it gives you an excuse for it afterwards. I need to get drunk, in an intimate setting, and begin talking. I know who it is I want to talk to- someone who hasn't heard it all before. But even if he wants to listen, they won't give us the chance.