My stomach feels like it is churning yucky fried oils and other nasty yucky stuff together, spinning them round and round, because it is. I ate pizza for lunch, followed by a glass of whiskey to celebrate leaving work early, followed by a steak and cheese sandwich for dinner, downed with a 24 ounce can of Budweiser, and man, there is a reason you are supposed to eat well - it is so that you don't feel as gross and chained to the ground as I do know with this heavy stomach. I really wanted to go to Nowhere or Metropolitian tonight since I finally have cash, but of course, no one wants to go with me. Niki is over gay bars. Peter is reading. Joe is sick. I need to expand my circle of friends so that I have more backup bar buddies in situations like this. Why the steak and cheese? That is what really did me in. I know it. Ugh, and I cannot even concentrate on reading, so I will probably just lie in bed feeling ishy until I fall asleep. The only activity I am good for right now is throwing more yuck into the mix, drinking more, but sadly, I am not drunk enough to go out by myself, and everyone else is stupid. Yes. Yes, they are.