This is love, this is love that I'm feelin'.

I've had the bridge from "This Is Love" by PJ Harvey stuck in my head and repeating itself mercilessly for the last two hours.

You the only story that I've never told
You're my dirty little secret, wanna keep you so
Come on out, come on over, help me forget
Keep the walls from falling as they're tumbling in

Can't clean 'cause everyone's asleep. Can't drive anywhere 'cause I have less than a half tank of gas and only about $6 in cash to my name. So I was sitting here with this insane urge to get up and do fucking anything. Eat the contents of the kitchen, clean, drive anywhere. Nope. So what do I do? Crack open a fucking Tilt. So much for all that discipline.

As sad as it sounds, I feel way better. Not so worried about the fact that I'm on my last pack of smokes, how I'm gonna pay my bills from now on, what I'm gonna do for a job, how I'm gonna get the fuck out of this house when I start going insane. Nope. Just drunk and happy. A short-term happy, but happy nonetheless.

And even worse? I only seem to feel inspired when I'm drunk. I get the best fucking ideas ever. I can talk to people with ease (and even in hindsight, don't care how I looked, sounded or acted). I bust open the long-neglected Photoshop and start creating masterpieces. Have fancy ideas for photoshoots. Or, more recently, feel this incredible urge to get my hands on a sewing machine.

I don't wanna kill my own buzz, but why can't I seem to function normally when I'm sober? I think I need therapy.

I'll worry about that tomorrow, I suppose.