I’m legitimately drunk.
There’s no hiding it, denying it, arguing it—yeah—I’m certifiably hammered.
I can barely feel my fingers glide over the keyboard, but that’s okay. I’ll manage. Hopefully. Explosions still rattle the sky, but it’s still cloudy. No sense in going outside. Not me. The clouds are still out there and I have absolutely no desire to see that shit. None of it. I’m tired of it. 35 straight days of that shit. Damn it. You know what I’m going to do? I’m going to invent a fucking laser and blast those puffy bastards straight out of the sky. Yeah. That’s what I’m going to do.
End Entry 3