Crazy Night I just wanted to feel something. I wanted to feel like an animal for once rather than a reasonable person who is always stuck thinking the same sensible thoughts. Be moral, my mind says. Do what is right. Do what is good, and do it for God. And it might be the Darwinian theory twirling inside of my head that I used for an excuse but, if I'm being honest (and I have no reason not to be since you are a part of me) it was all me. I didn't need Darwin to tell me I have animalistic urges, I needed him to distance me from my god so I could become something immoral for a change. To escape the only being that has kept me sensible. The truth is, I planned out the event before they even thought it up. Before he even told me he had a bottle of vodka in the fridge (and do you even keep it refrigerated? An odd question but one that has troubled me since that night) and poured me a glass. Before I got tipsy but could not admit that I was in such a state (and what does that say about my psychology if not that it is deluded?) . Before the drug deal and the blue-green beautiful, disgusting bowl and the crushed up weed in a plastic container and the smoking and the getting-high-for-the-hell-of-it. And for what? To feel like the animal that is somewhere inside of me? Because I never want to see that thing come out again.