Makings of an Alcoholic...?

This is how I know I'm becoming an alcoholic:
Last week. Possibly Wednesday, or Thursday...not quite sure. My anxiety seems to warp and blut any perception of time lately. Anyways, I'm using the drive-thru at Taco Bell, and I think, "Man, I could really go for a beer with my taco." Then, in a moment of sheer brilliance - well, stupidity - I think to myself: Why don't they sell alcohol at fast food? They should really put that on the menu!! Not only did this thought birth from my twisted mind, but it stayed there for the better part of thirty seconds. For those thirty seconds, I felt like the smartest, most innovative person in the world. Then, common sense slapped me - or splashed a dirty martini - in the face. Rachel, it's a freaking DRIVE-THRU...why would they SELL ALCOHOL?! DRIVE-THRU, Rachel.
The funny, or sad, thing is...I still think it's a brilliant idea - kind of. It needs to be tweaked a little, but the twisted part of me still thinks I'm really on to something here...uh oh.

Back from the Dead

Wow, I can't believe I haven't posted anything since October...since BEFORE Peru! That's pathetic. I apologize profusely to my four or five groupies that actually read this.

I've been meaning to write more, especially now that I'm going to school for, uhhh, copyWRITING. Yeah. I should definitely write more. Why don't I? I could rattle off a laundry list: lack of time, lack of energy/motivation, blah blah blah. But, the REAL reason? FEAR. Yes, fear. I fear that my writing will suck. Advertising school doesn't help, either. I'm an anxious, sensitive person (two of my best traits, if I do say so myself...:::sarcasm:::) I really am. And aparently I've decided to pursue a career that requires thick skin, acceptance of job instability/layoffs, long hours, big egos, and competition so fierce you could slice it with a blunt, overused butter knife. Anyways, more on that later...

I'm finally diving back into writing tonight because I've recently experieced a major life event: a breakup. Out of respect for him, and out of my own respect for the relationship, I won't spill any major details. (Besides, publicly announcing highly personal information via blogs, Facebook or Myspace is childish and normally aimed at hurting the other party, neither of which I aspire to do or become.)

But yes, I've had a relationship breakup very recently. My best writing tends to come from the darker, sadder times of my life. Perhaps it is my mind's cathartic way of coping, and making sense of it all.

I've been working on a poem - albeit an unfinished one - regarding breakups. When a relationship dies...where does all the love go? Sure, there are final words, final kisses, final goodbyes...but what becomes of the love that still pumps through every vein of your body, your mind? I think each love is different, and finds its own escape route. Some love goes quickly; more often, it's a slow, painful process of departure. For some, the love never truly goes away. The poem below is still in the works...but I thought I'd post a rough draft. Feel free to comment.

Where does love go when lovers part?
How does it escape the heart?
Does it float away on a lost balloon,
or sink into love's lost lagoon?
Does it linger like the smell of rain,
or scar just like a ketchup stain?
Does it brand the heart in ink tattoo,
or stick to the soul like super glue?
Does it run away into your dreams,
or stitch itself into the seams
of the heart
you now wear on your sleave?
Tell me, how will my love depart
How will it
break the chains strapped
to my heart?