Hamilton!

i fell backwards out of the three weeks comprising what all in all has been a swell month into a very swollen right tonsil and neon flem bombarding the roadside on the fast ride to work this morning. there was a weekend of extreme excess and success, with expensive tasty beers and rock and roll and meeting a person or two. then there was an in between weekend with some pretending everything was different then it really is and make believe. and then there was a weekend where i wanted both of the previous weekends but couldn't force it, couldn't make the same cupcake without the secret ingredient, i called old friends and didn't answer when they called back, i wanted to imagine myself as someone successful and real, i wanted that damned chandelier i found more than a year ago in a store and never bought, i wanted to get dance drunk not lose shit drunk and ultimately ended up sick and poor and dejected. all in all a pretty swell month. i bought a lot of records. and i speak, and (upon review) write in far too abstract language. nothing i say makes any sense.

about the bottle room. it might also be turned into one of the following:
1. weight room (aka wasted space)
2. art studio (aka wasted space)
3. iguana room (although i wouldn't want the cold blood of an innocent reptile on my hands, not after franuel)
4. torture/ sex chamber (aka wasted space)
damn. i really need to come up with better uses for it, before the bottle smashing reaches a baneful zenith, and i end up with a shard of green grolsch glass stuck between my toes. any suggestions are welcome.