They don’t have them here. As most folks know, Tylenol PM is my pleasure. It is my only vice. That and shit talking. But mostly, Tylenol PM is my drug de jour. I don’t smoke. Anything. And I don’t drink wildly (a corona on an empty stomach is enough to make me act a fool). But I enjoy Tylenol PM. Here in OZ, they have a thing called panadol. panadol is a name brand tablet (they call them tablets, not pills).

Well, I had a giant tub of my, let’s call them “Dolls” in honor of Jacqueline Susann’s piece of crap, Valley of the Dolls. I had a little tub of dolls for my long flight. Now, I use them for my long nights. Which is not anything to worry yourself over. I never take them with booze. And I am such a square that I cant imagine mixing them with anything but a freakin’ cup of ice cream.

Anyhow, I am nearly out and the only thing that old fucko uses is Nature’s Valley natural sleeping aid. I hate that herbal crap. Tastes like a hen’s asshole. And I hate hen’s asshole because it tastes like gasoline on toast. And I hate that, too.

The point is, last night, I took to the pen and paper in order to sleep. I was falling under the spell of TPM and fell asleep with my pen in my hand. God, if only I could die that way. Only, with a quill pen. And in the 17th century.

Anyhow, this is what I wrote in my journal (I bought a brand new one, as one does. And it isn’t of a famous oil painting like before. It is a white notepad that says, “I (heart picture) (moustache picture)” I liked it so much, I bought two. I love being an arse.

30 August 2011

I do not like people telling me that i have a bright future. I already know this. I know I have a bright future without him. I know. But i am here right now and do not need anyone to force me out of this moment in my life. I want to remember every single detail of this experience. all of it. all of the anger. all of the pain. all of the drive and fight i have in me. i want to remember the exhaustion. the eye opening awareness i have on human nature and inhumane nature. all of it. there is no other rush, drug, or high better than feeling every single minute feeling that god has given us the ability to feel. and im not wasting this/these feelings on hiding or fleeing. fuck that. last time i had a life changing experience like this, i ran. I literally ran. every day for months i ran after my dad passed away. and i dont remember anymore if i grew out that, learned out of that, or simply was deposited by time on the other side of that. but i know i didnt observe the way i like to observe and i certainly did not write shit down. this time, in this experience, i am determined to memorize as much as possible and i would appreciate it if no one (no one does, in fact) but if no one provide me with undercurrents of informational encouragement— tell me something i don’t know. not “you dont need this guy”. Duh. fuckin duh.

And there you have it. two wasted pages in a diary with a picture of a fuckn moustache on it.

Calgon. take me away.