…brought to you by my good friend alcohol

My family has been in California for 4 days, and I’m am at their house dog-sitting until they get back on Friday. This has been, without a doubt, the most boring 4 days I’ve ever experienced.
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Tonight I’ve given in to the temptation to entertain myself with alcohol; I’ve been making amaretto&cokes all night and drinking them as fast as I can.
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Thus, updating. Alcohol makes me like to write, and while it has a negative effect on my ability to spell and stay within the bounds of propriety, it makes me think I’m a good writer. So I will post this entry, whatever it ends up saying, and not realize until tomorrow that I’ve shared things better kept secret. And I’ll think that every word is brilliant because don’t drunks always think their thoughts are important? It’s why we so often speak them.
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For the record, I highly recommend amaretto&cokes to everyone with the means to procure the ingredients. It tastes like cherry coke, which is a good thing if you, like me, are too much of a wimp to allow your alcohol taste like… well, alcohol.
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I attempted to keep a handwritten journal recently, but I detest everything in it. I lack inspiration, you see, and everything I write comes out sounding melodramatic and stupid.
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There was a project on Alchera quite a few months ago where you had to begin & end your story with 2 Jack London quotes. Since at that time, as we all may remember, most of my stories had an underlying theme of infidelity, the story I was writing had to do with that. I came across the notes I’d written for it recently, and came upon one part:
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She doesn’t want the sun to rise on her sins; at night, it can be no more of a betrayal than dreams. Details dissolve with sunrise.
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The story never was finished. As I went through my notes, all of the points I’d considered integral to the story- that they undressed in the dark, that they never spoke, and the ending, where she dozes off and they wake up with sunlight streaming in through the windows, forcing them to face their feelings (or something)- were all so… freshman-creative-writing trite. It would take a better writer than me to write the story so that it would be more than just a slavering testament to my desires at the time.
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The story is still in my head; I kept the notes just in case I ever get over him.
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The thing is, I’ve been having dreams about him, and I’m not quite sure why. Because I really thought I was over him, but now I feel very conflicted. Because I’m not supposed to be talking to him, so every conversation we have is overly dramatic and short and unsatisfying and makes me feel incredibly guilty even though we never say anything worthwhile. I probably don’t even like him all that much, and I’ll never know it.
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On a less depressing note, Boeing is flying me to Los Angeles for an on-site interview in a few days less than 2 weeks. Being the excellent company that they are, they are also paying for 2 nights at a hotel & a flight back from San Diego so I can visit my sister over the weekend. I sure as hell hope I impress these people. But even if I don’t, hey, free trip to California.
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I feel nostalgic for 3 weeks ago. How does that work?
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And now it’s time for me to retreat into silence once more. To sleep, at least once the amaretto has taken over the entire bottle of diet coke that I drank. This will probably be deleted in the morning, or once I remember I posted it.

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I should make time to write more often. I feel so boring & out of touch.
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Love.