one last jab at it

i'm two days in to another decompression in the central timezone. despite the fact that i commissioned my father to procure a $10 30-pack of pabst for me wednesday, which has already mysteriously dissapeared along with a six-pack of capitol brewery munich dark and a fair portion of bailey's irish cream, two thirds a pack of camels and gallons of strong, black coffee, being home feels (in a way) like rehab. of course i don't know much about what rehab feels like, but i liken my coming home to a mending, a patching of weeping pus, and in many ways a rehabilitation from the shithole i was rescued from but 60 or so hours ago. i'm not counting the hours, really. i picked up a good string, having borrowed 'franny & zooey' from SS, which i read wednesday, then 'description of a struggle' on thursday, and 'diary of a madman' today, which is probably what got me to start typing away again, no reason, just to get not unprolific again in some sense, maybe to say hello to all of you fucks or some such thing.