>>From: Belacqua
>>To: Perdita
>>Subject: back to vodka
>>Date: Thu, 28 Dec 2000

My neighbor offered me a beer and I couldn't resist, so I went down to his apartment, finished off some of his fine, Lithuanian vodka along with 2 beers and I'm feeling mighty fine right now. I was a little pissed at him, but I buried it for a little alcohol, and I still kind of had it out with him a little bit letting him know that I certainly didn't appreciate the shit his girlfriend said to me, and he justified it to hell and back, and I let him know that all that was fine and good, but she really struck a nerve and pissed me off and I just wanted him to know about it. So, I feel a little better about all that, though I'm still pissed at her and I think what she said to me was bitchy as shit. But I guess as long as I get shit like that out in the open, I'm okay with it..

I have officially acquired a plane ticket to go visit you. It arrives at 5:10 on Wednesday, January 3rd. I don't leave until the 8th because I ended up going through Priceline and saving some money on it, so I leave Monday the 8th, but that's a negative thought and shouldn't be dwelt upon. SHIT, I'm fucked up to hell and back. When my neighbor called, I was actually just sitting and writing, and doing pretty well with it. Whatever I'm reading always tends to color whatever I write, and since I haven't been reading much lately, that could have something to do with why I couldn't really express what I wanted to say, but what I'm writing now has a definite Artaudian influence. I was on a kick one time where I was reading nothing but Kurt Vonnegut novels and I was writing almost in his exact style. At one point I was reading a lot of Victorian (ugh) literature for classes and I couldn't stop writing in a stuffy 19th century style. I'm a terrible thief/chameleon writer, but this Artaud writing that I'm reading is a really good influence because it's really making me turn inside to a large degree and I'm realizing a lot about myself in the process. And that fucking rules.

As I was drinking I was just absolutely crushed with the sensation of missing you and an almost uncontrollable impatience for January 3rd to be here and for time to then freeze and January 8th never to come. But the 3rd will be here soon enough, and that's all I care to think about right now. God, I was seized by this really intense feeling that I had to hear your voice, and I'm thinking about my parents’ apprehension and how fucking funny it all is that they can reduce things to such superficial labels and have absolutely no idea what I'm feeling and how consumed I am with feelings and how superhuman these feelings are, how much they transcend anything they will ever know, and how I wouldn't trade an entire lifetime of contentment for my miserable excuse for an existence now just because I am so super-sensitive to feelings. I love having these feelings course through me like I'm strapped into the electric chair and the warden has thrown the switch and I'm paralyzed with the current flowing through my veins, how romantic is such a mundane term to classify the fire in my body. I'm getting sidetracked again. I can come up with a thousand metaphors that all say the same thing, but I know you know what I mean.

Holy shit, I'm fucking falling over. I'm going to be really pissed off if this vodka makes me sick. I haven't not gotten sick from vodka in a really long time, so I'm kinda nervous about it, but shit, liquor is liquor and I knew three beers wouldn't get me where I want to be right now. I'm just fucking missing you so much, and I hate that I can't ever verbalize anything unless I have drinks in my system. The words “I love you” can't ever come up out of my throat unless I'm drinking, and it's not because I only feel it when I'm drinking; it's just because drinking is the only way I can overcome those horribly human inhibitions I have. One time, I knew this girl liked me, and I knew all I and to do was ask, and she'd say yes, and I still had to get so fucking shitfaced I couldn't walk in order to ask her out. And it all ended in disaster because I had no idea how to conduct myself with another human being. I've been so fucking isolated for so fucking long that when I'm around another human being, I fucking freeze up and have no idea what the fuck I'm supposed to do, and that's my whole problem: trying to think of what I'm "supposed" to do instead of what I want to do. There’s some sorry fucking piece of machinery in my head that I can't set free, and I'm trying to destroy it now. I'm almost afraid that I'm going to end up destroying myself in trying to destroy certain parts of myself, but all that won't matter in the end.

I think I have to go to sleep...after I drink a half gallon of water...but sleep nonetheless....

I love you Perdita, and I can't wait to see you in a week.
Belacqua

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>From: Perdita
>To: Belacqua
>Subject: Re: back to vodka
>Date: Thu, 28 Dec 2000

Belacqua,

Breakfast yesterday was okay, I suppose. My friend asked me where I wanted to go, and all I could come out with was "somewhere I can smoke." We ended up at Denny's, and I swear to god the first drag on that first cigarette was the most wonderful feeling ever. I'd gone without any cigarettes at ALL for about five days or so. I can't even believe I made it that far without fucking losing it. Being around my family is the best fucking way to quit any bad habits because I'm so fucking paranoid about what they'd say that I completely abstain. In a way, it's yet another great masochistic practice of mine; I love to get attached to foreign substances, then go cold turkey off them just to see how lousy it makes me feel.

Then, last night, I went out with Ami and finally got to drink. It was pretty cool, too, because it was snowing pretty badly and no one wanted to leave the house, but Mario Lemieux's first game back with the Penguins was last night. So, Ami and I went to a sports bar with these four fucking huge-ass television screens and watched the Pens destroy Toronto. It was fucking cool. If it hadn't been snowing, there's no way in hell we would've been able to set foot in that bar, but we lucked out and had a good time because of it. Cigarettes, beer, and hockey, and all of a sudden, everything was slightly better for just a little while.

You know, you probably won't be able to believe this, but I'm fairly convinced that you're far better in expressing yourself and your feelings than I am. You say you freeze up in front of people unless you've been drinking, but I have this horrible tendency to overcompensate by being fucking loud and obnoxious and totally hiding whatever I'm really thinking or feeling whether I'm sober OR drunk. Or, if I'm quiet, I become utterly convinced that whoever I'm with is able to read the thoughts that are in my head, and I feel almost like I shouldn't have to say anything at all. Then I get all pissed off when people DON'T understand what's going on in my head, and it just magnifies itself into a giant problem that's forever stuck in my head with no hope of being released. I try to write most of what I feel, but I've gotten to a point where I don't really feel like doing much writing, so even that's been lost lately. Ah, I don't know. I suppose I do eventually just tire of having things swirling in my head, so I try and just say them as fast as I can without thinking, but the times at which that happens are so few and far between compared to how often I WISH it would happen.

I'm so glad to hear that you secured a plane ticket. Those times sound fine. I could care less what I have to do to go get you, as long as you come and we can be together. Christ, I can't WAIT until the third. This is the slowest fucking Christmas break EVER. Usually, the break flies right past without even giving me time to stop and think, but this year it's crawling like you wouldn't believe. Every single day seems to last a fucking lifetime.

I think it's awesome that you told your neighbor that his girlfriend pissed you off. It's no big surprise that he would try to defend her, but at least he's aware of how you felt about it, and that's what really matters, right? I spent half of last evening trying to explain things I feel to Ami, and she just kept looking at me with wide eyes, nodding her head occasionally, staring at me with this look that I've come to know all too well: you know, the one that says, "I can't believe I'm listening to this crazy person without trying to talk some sense into her." I don't know why I bother, but explanations seem to have become my purpose in life at this point. Everything needs an explanation. I must write everything down and explain it to death, or else it never existed. It's CRAZY. My life has been reduced to a collection of writings, most of which I can't even remember writing, and they're still not good enough to explain ANYTHING. Christ.

I'm fucking tired as hell. I'm awake again bright and early in the morning, just to ensure some time on the computer, and I'm sore and thirsty after last night at the bar. But at least I got my internet time, and at least reading e-mails from you makes me feel a tiny bit closer to you. I can't wait to see you. Screw your parents and their total inability to comprehend the situation; we know what's going on, and we're the only ones who ever will.

I love you so much.
Perdita