Corporate Red Tape

Well... I can't remember shit all from yesterday... Even if I'm happy...it's sort of dulled by the fucking pounding in my head. Who the holy hell let me start drinking again? I found five bottles stacked nicely by my trash can, a cold fucking ice bag on my head, and I had a blanket draped over me. Last thing I remember was downing a few older vintages of whiskey I had neglected... After that, it was fuzzy. I think I had one of my Jack dreams, you know? Where she comes back to Sanctuary and finally handles all of the shit, and breaks me out of my depression. Except it wasn't a fucking dream. I woke up and there she was, passed the fuck out on the couch. My couch, which I also face fucking first in, reminding myself why I stopped drinking in the first place. I mean, I call it my couch, since it's in my office... It's Jack's. Sort of. Well, our couch. Usually when she's bored, she slips in, hands me a drink, and just passes out. Been a while sin

(Foreword: Good evening,  readers and Rabbits. As you can clearly tell, this isn't Tag writing his account of our first meeting after I came back to Sanctuary. I would have liked to have written it together with him, but seeing as he's a bit indisposed right now, I'll be taking over his blog for a bit. Hope you enjoy the ride, kids.)  Jack wearily climbed the steps to her once home, eyeing myriad Rabbits happily scurrying by in their haste to.. something. She had lost track of the latest accomplishments, woes, and assignments of her people in the last six months. She had been over the hills and far away: chasing seemingly impossible goals, fighting death, and attempting to survive her own fatalistic nature for so long, the small details of the day to day lives of her friends slipping between her fingers like water. Pushing the heavy red oak door open, she slipped inside quietly. Making no attempt to be seen or unseen. A few passerby she had known more intimately

Depression sucks when you're only really known for being an angry psychopath. Or... tend to be expected to play one at all odd hours of the day. Even psychopaths get down in the dumps.Or sleep enough to try to forget their problems. I'm down. I miss my best friend. She'd give me so much shit for even writing this without trying to call her first. Yes, Jack, I get it,  you're clearly out doing something important and clearing your head, but I miss the hell out of you and the other rabbits are talking... Seems like she's busy, I'll probably hear something from her in the comments. But look, I'm a grumpy old man, I miss my grumpy ass bitch of a best friend, I miss our grumpy ass talks, our grumpy ass jabs, and even her grumpy ass face. I'm sitting in the dark corner of my office, a cup of coffee in hand, and typing this out so it can finally leave my fucking head and I might be able to sleep tonight. You ever feel like something is off? I kn