It's been awhile since I've had a drink of booze! 

I think I deserve one. I think a big tall cold margarita is what I need! Today would be great for one! My head hurts. I've been trying for so long to figure out my deal. I mean, seriously, "What in the Hee-Haw Hell is going on with me?"

Why can't I figure it out?

Why ain't I a Bazzillionaire? I mean, I deserve it just as much as some terrorist supporting guy born into an oil rich family, or some toothless wife beating racist who just happened to buy the winning superlotto quick pick on the way to the store to get some smokes even though his kid needs medicine.

Yesterday I moved a refrigerator for a guy who has a ton of money. I asked his friends what he did to get the money to buy the big house, the Shelby in his hanger, the big boat, his assorted rare guns… and I was told, "He had a heavily insured wife that died."

Damn.

I wonder if he's doing what she would have wanted with this money? Maybe some people want their spouses to live it up after their gone. 

I remember meeting a kid going to USC who was getting a free college education because an uncle died and had set up a fund for his nieces and nephews. This kid felt entitled and didn't really know the uncle, didn't have a picture of him in his pad and didn't seem to care to learn anything about him at all. I thought this was terribly sad.

I wish that dead dude would crawl out of his grave and with pieces falling off his rotting body, bust into that brat kids $4000 a month apartment and throw him threw the window to the street 5 floors below onto the roof of his pussy-ass sports car!

Money isn't that big a deal to me. Obviously, because I have none. I think the poor think about money more than the rich. Maybe I think about my lack of money more. Maybe the rich think about the things they possess. I think about bills, my belly grumbling because of the lack of food, the books I can't buy, the car falling apart, the clothes I don't have, the house I can't buy, the girl I can't support, the kids I didn't have and how lucky they are they were not born to a man who can't make enough money to take care of them, but that's not a man is it? A man would make money to make all that good stuff come true, wouldn't he? A real man would find a way to make money to get a nice car, a nice house, nice clothes, and the things that would attract a loving wife to take care of, who would have pretty babies that would be healthy and well educated because of the money he'd generate regardless of the economy. I wish I were a real man!

I want a drink. I think a drink would taste good. I wouldn't get too drunk with it, but just enough of a buzz to smooth the hard rough corners of some of these painful thoughts that try squeezing their square edges into round holes in my brain. I know I'm too rough on myself. Some would say I'm too rough on myself, but maybe more would say I'm not rough enough.

There was a time where I made great money. It was as if money was made of steel and I was a magnet. Money just found me effortlessly! If I could only remember how I was thinking then. I bet I thought completely different from the way I do now. 

Where is my mind? The mind from those days.