I've been feeling a lot of Sunday night anxiety today.  I'm not sure why.  I haven't been in the best mood for the last few days.  The weekend...  Not sure how i'd categorize it.
Friday-  Got up early to head downtown in Manhattan to testify in front of the grand jury, in relation to my mugging. I just liked telling people I was testifying in front of the Grand Jury. It just sounded cool. "so, what are you doing tomorrow?"  "Oh, I have to testify in front of the grand jury. You?"  As a bonus, I got a $10 witness fee for being there.  I'm glad Katey wasn't there.  She was the one who last 2 dollars. So she would've actually made money from being mugged.  A lot of the people from the lineup were there, including this insufferable old woman who kept saying things like "I think he must've gone to the Business School of Crime. Because he was not stupid." Lady, he robbed 32 people at knifepoint and was caught. That's pretty fucking stupid.  "I think crime must be a calling.  Because you need to have a certain energy and enthusiasm for it."  Sigh...  I just wanted to testify and get out of there.  It was really interesting though. I just went over my testimony with the assistant DA, and went into the courtroom.  When I was being sworn in, and everyone was looking at me, i kept thinking that maybe my fly was down, and I was cursing myself for not making sure it was up before going in. So I answered all the questions the guy asked. He was very specific about not saying words like "black" and "hispanic." Just "the guy with the knife."  So the whole thing took like 2 minutes. I got up, walked out, checked my fly, and left.

    Friday night was particularly crazy.  Hazy, really.  Rivaling the new year's weekend.  I think the first time I've ever suffered blackout. I woke up on Saturday and saw the clock reading 9:00, and thought I had to get up for work. Then I realized that the clock looked too clear, meaning I had slept with my contacts in. Then I realized I was in the clothes I went out in.  Then figured, a ha, I passed out after coming home.   I got about six hours later and wandered into the kitchen, and saw my sewing kit and Super Glue on the counter.  I asked Jed why these particular items were on the counter, and he said "Dylan was trying to fix his glasses."  And I said "how did Dylan's glasses break?"  And he said "They broke when you kicked him in the head." "What!?"  "It was an accident, but your foot hit him in the face."  I had absolutely no memory of that.  Apparently, when we got back to the apartment on friday night, I found my way to the top of the stoop, and upon realizing that I'd have to wait for someone to open the door, promptly collapsed.  Then Matt picked me up and I went inside.  That's about the last thing I rememeber. According to Jed, Dylan went to get my feet to help matt carry me, and I must've bucked or something, and I glanced his head with my foot, breaking his glasses in three places.  So I walked to my room under my own power and plopped down in bed.  Jed and Matt tried to get my jacket off, but only succeeded in getting one sleeve off.  I think I was still awake at this point, and i was shooing them away. After a few more tries, they managed to get my shoes and coat off.  At some point, Matt and Jed were getting a big kick out of pretending to hump my passed-out body.  Jed said they must've each done it five or six times. They are sick, sick fucks.

    Anyhow, what led up to all this was, naturally, a whole lotta drinking.  Once again, we polished off a bottle of the good Captain Morgan's before going out, and finished another bottle we had started on New Years, which amounted to about 8 shots each.  It's excessive, sure, but there's no stopping Matt when he gets his mind set on drinking.  So then Matt, Jed, Dylan and I went to check out a new bar opening in Cobble Hill, called Roxy, which is owned by the same people who own Great Lakes and the Boat.  Loraida, the bartender who was at Boat last week, told us about the opening, so we decided to stop on by.  She was at Roxy, and we chatted on and off.  the other bartender there was a real dick, in a "I'm a friendly but ball-busting frat guy bartender" kind of way.  I ordered a white russian, and Loraida came up with some close approximation, but 4 sips into it this guy swoops in a takes my fucking drink, and says something about "No milk drinks!"  He offered to get me another, more suitable drink, but at that point vocalization of thoughts was becoming more and more difficult. Which didn't really matter, since the only thing I wanted to say was "No thanks, I don't really need another drink."  I think Loraida had by that point made some shot for us, free of charge.  That I think was after three drinks and two other shots.  I'm not sure what it was, but that staring into the brown liquid was one of the last real memories of the evening. That and running out onto the sidewalk to get some air when I thought I might puke.  But no puking was to be had.  Matt and Jed kind of wanted to walk down the street to the Boat, but I really didn't need another bar at that point. It was already like 3 I think.  So we piled into a cab and headed home. I'm not sure if I was asleep or what, but I completely missed Jed and Matt and Dylan being complete jackasses in the cab.  I think they kept sliding the glass thingy back and forth and freaking out and other foolishness.  For me, what happened was, I got in the cab, and boom, we were home.  We piled outta the cab, which brings us to where the tale began, with Matt dragging me inside and Dylan being hit in the head with my shoe.
    After I went to bed, Jed, Dylan, Matt, and roommate Josh sat in the living room playing the guitars and the drums and singing. Around 3:30, I very irate neighbor came down to complaing about the racket. They didn't know which one, because they didn't even open the door.  They guy just started banging on the door, and they all got quiet. After a while of no one opening the door, the guy just started yelling "Do you guys know what time it is? Can you keep it down?"  Silence.  Finally, matt just said, "sorry!"  and the guy left. I wish I knew who it was. I thought they shoulda opened the door and before the guy said anything, been like "uh... Dude, can you play the keyboard?"  or "Hey, don't you think it's sort of rude to be banging on someone's door at 3:30? in the morning?"
    So saturday was spent pretty much exclusively feeling like shit.  Around midnight, Jed and I mustered the strength to leave the house. We met my brother Geoff down by his apartment and walked down to Great Lakes. It wasn't the Great Lakes I was hoping for, as it was way too crowded and the prosect of sitting was nonexistent.  So we stood around and had a few drinks. By Jed's third, he complained that every sip was burning his insides, so we came home and made a grilled cheese and called it a night.  And I spent most of today watching TV, playing nintendo, and eating cheese. The day was really centered around eating. I managed to make some blueberry muffins that I'd bought in Lexington, VA, way back in July. Tastiness.  And I broiled a nice big steak for dinner.
    Speaking of Lexington, I spoke with ex-girlfriend Liz this morning.  She's still in the old college town, having a gay ol' time.  I think we had the most real conversation we've had in a long time. Not that I talk to her much. I've probably spoken with her 4 times in the last year.  We sort of parted under bad terms.  Anyway, the conversation, while not unpleasant in the least and even enjoyable,  was still kind of unsatisfying on the whole, because the only way I ever really talked to her was as my girlfriend, and it's weird, even after all this time, to have to be more careful what I say to her about certain things. I can't talk with the freedom what's afforded you when you're talking to a girlfriend.  And that was the only way I knew her.

---

    I was writing in my last entry about something feeling wrong.  That hasn't gone away. In fact, it's gotten worse.  But no more tangible.
 

    To sum up:  I    am    not    very    happy    with    myself.
 

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