What is love?

It’s 0300. Tuesday morning. April 9th. 2013. All of the lights are dead in the apartment. No sound excluding the bathtub faucet leaking. Drip. Drip. Drip. Booze working its way through my system. The empty bottle of whiskey falls off of the futon. It makes a thud as it lands against the carpeted floor. The room is still spinning, because of the alcohol and of the events that unfolded last night.  I don’t want to talk about that right now. My eyes start to become heavy again; I take my bodies suggestion and close them.
1132. The sun is peaking through the window curtains. Note to self, buy thicker curtains. My head is pounding. Stomach rumbling. But more than anything the overwhelming feeling of wanting to die overrides all other sensation.  Flashbacks of last night incite a vomiting session. Wasn’t motivated enough to move, bed now covered in puke. Fantastic. I had planned on going back to sleep, but now that the entire room reeks it might be a good excuse to get up. I walk over to the pile of questionably clean clothes by the door and grab what I need for the day. As I walk past the fridge I reach in and down another beer. I needed a pick me up. Thought about shaving, but decided it would be too much effort. Showered, dressed, and out the door. I get into my car and start the ignition. And of course it’s on empty. I pull out my wallet, $27.56. Shit. Her birthday is tomorrow. Not that it even matters after what happened. I decide to drive to the gas station and pump $10 in, a little over three gallons. Thanks Bush. I drive off and head to the park. This time of year is perfect. Flowers starting to bloom. Great place to think. And time seems to accelerate.
1441. I come to, realizing my phone is vibrating. Shit, it’s her. I wasn’t prepared for this. I let it ring. She’ll give up after a few tries. I get back into my car, liquor store bound. A six pack of Coors is all that I can really afford. I decide to head back home. I unlock the front door and step inside. Ugh. I should have cleaned up. I load all of my beddings into the washer. Then it’s to the kitchen to grab my last bottle of Jack, my six pack, and my box of leftover pizza. I set my evenings festivities on the table next to my futon. I open the closet and at the bottom is a small black box. I grab the box and sit down on the futon. I grab the bottle of whiskey and take a drink. Eyes still glued to the little black box. I knock open the lid with my foot. Sitting there is a .357 magnum, a box of shells next to it and bag of ‘shrooms. I take another drink. I reach in and snatch up the bag of ‘shrooms. Was saving this for a special occasion but it was either this or the gun. 1.2.3.4. I put the rest of the bag back in the box and then turn on the television. I fall back into my seat and let the drugs do their job.
0032. Wednesday, April 10th. Drip. Drip. Drip. I reach for the bottle of whiskey, take another drink.