It's 3:45 in the goddamned morning.
I haven't slept for shit for two weeks.
I've been fighting this for six weeks.
Nothing shuts it up.
It. Won't. Fucking. Stop.
So here I am, on my bed at 3:45 am, with a bottle of Maker's Mark in my hand and some of Yelawolf's trippier shit blasting in my headset. It's been a long damned time since I've done this. Years. Every sip brings tears to my eyes.
A bad idea? Most certainly. But not as bad as the alternative. Not nearly as bad.
Bottoms up, motherfuckers.
