A Night Under the Influenced Clouds of Smoke

Four glasses of wine and enough ciggarettes to give all the non smokers a sort of malaise. I feel invinvicble when I drink wine. Everything gains a certain beauty that exists constantly but only appears under the spell of Bordeaux Merlot. A.J, his mother and myself drank glass after glass and discussed the lives we have been leading. Nights like this are refreshing. You feel alive. The fall gives birth to these evenings. We grow up in the cool air and newly fallen leaves. These are also the nights I think most about love. My love, a beautiful girl with a penchant for smiling, makes my life worth living.

In the early morning hours, just as your eyes fall to the floor, you notice aches and pains you would normally shrug off. My head has started to hurt and my feet have grown slightly numb. I can't complain, it is only my hypochondriac alter ego spending the night. Hypochondriacs are some of the smartest people in the world in my opinion. After all, they look so deeply into things, how could they not have vast knowledge? The idea that something going on inside of me might just cause me to face the final curtain is a scary one. Death isn't what I would call a pleasant pre dream thought. I should know. I have had some of the most terrible nightmares you could ever imagine.

They almost seem to dicate my morning and rest of the day. One night I had a dream that Diana was cheating on me with another guy. I walked in and saw the whole thing happened. I woke up covered in sweat with my fists clenched so tight I could have held a piece of coal in my palm and concieved a diamond. The rest of the day I spent in a haze wondering if that had really happened. Maybe my brain was trying to tell me something that I had subconciously picked up. Maybe I'm just out of my fucking mind and worry too much. Now I know where the pains in my head come from. I think hypochondria is just a nice way of saying your mind is killing you slowly. No wonder I haven't been feeling so alive.