Three quarters of a bottle of Petite Sirah and two Raging Bitch beers later … I should not be writing this … but, “should not be writing this posts” were the MOST POPULAR feature on my old blog. People loved a drunken Charlie (now, they don’t, I seemed to have offended to the point of almost losing two friends this summer being drunk and I didn’t have that many in the first place) so – here I am, GOING!
The thing is – I HATE THIS DAY. It was on this day, the day after Labor Day, a few years ago, when my heart was broken and the most intense, serious, long-standing, mind-reading love of my life dissolved in a way I will never understand, in a way that makes my heart ache – still – all the time, in a way that I would never have expected, in a way that – for all intents and purposes – ended my life as I knew it.
I don’t think I will ever recover.
So, I am drunk. And stupid. And sad. And crying. And while I don’t believe that “judging” is ever my place, for this, for that, I don’t think I will ever be able to forgive you.