Frances. With an E.

It's 2:48am in the morning and I'm insanely going out of my mind.

I hate it. Uncertainty. Not knowing if it's going to work out, I'm driven to tears. What is "it"? "It" is my life. My sanity. My happiness. The feeling of peace and contentment. It's not there. It's fragmented.... I'd hated on living on just pockets of happiness, fleeting moments, yet here I am back at it again. A feeling that's none too foreign.

I'm speaking having downed 4 martini's. 3 Lemon drops, 1 of something the Bartender had concocted but I'd not remembered. It was irrelevant since the Lemon Drop was far superior. Note to self, when in Fullerton, head to the Matador for good dance music and excellent martini.

Alcohol makes one honest... is this the case? I'd like to think I AM honest. But TRUTHFULLY (ah yes, there in lies the rub) I am not always honest. How can you if you want to be a decent human being?? Nontheless I'm besides myself with confusion and an utter sense of... "god am I ever going to get this right". Will I ever get to where I need to be to NOT have this sense of repetitive failure. Or heartache. The heart ACHES.

I need more Lemon Drops to knock me out cold.