notes on boredom and more ready words

Boredom drills into me like a physical pain, I have spent the last three nights at home watching TV and playing with myself, and can I just say if sleepless nights, mood swings and constant exhaustion are the price of going out every night, then I'm willing to pay that and much more. In my early twenties I partied so hard I puked and shat blood, apparently I had a few peptic ulcers which was, I'm told, quite serious, but even being in hospital being throat raped by a camera that had seen better days in the eighties is better than watching East fucking Enders.

I spent far too much time tonight playing Tetris and was actually quite proud of myself until I realised what an enormous waste of time it was. Staying in just seems to me like killing time until you die, it's the same reason I don't like playing board games; its admitting your own mortality.

We actually saw the sun today, this summer has been a fucking battle, and I don't mind admitting that I lost, winter kicked my ass, at the moment I'm curled up in the foetal position hoping that the whooping doesn't last too much longer and winter doesn't fuck my spine up with its DM's.

Ok. Here is a short piece I did to practice writing dialogue. I'm unsure how it's turned out I still don't think that I have nailed the formal elements, is it clear who is saying what? Answers to the usual place thanks (its in the side bar, there it is, look at it, look there, see? It says contact me and everything.)

Blackness, warm comfortable black, then slowly Jack was aware of the taste in his mouth, a stale coat of vodka and vinegar, slowly the headache crept up like a small shy cat and curled up in his head just behind his left eye.
"Are you awake?" the ladies voice wasn't stern, in fact it sounded downright amicable, this, coupled with the fact he was lying on what felt like a bed and hadn't woke up on tiles or pavement, Jack saw as a good sign and decided to chance his arm at actually opening his eyes.
The owner of the voice was a pretty as the voice itself, she sat on the edge of the bed in pyjamas, thick dark brown curly hair fell to her shoulders that jack noted were lightly sprinkled with freckles.
"I think so, it hurts" growled Jack
"You drink too much" He wanted to think that there was a note of concern in her voice, but there wasn't, it was about as matter of fact as you could get, she could have just as easily told him the colour of his hair or today's date.
"Then how come I'm always thirsty?" it wasn't exactly Oscar Wilde, but it'll do thought Jack "sorry who are you?"
"I'm Jenny, this is my flat and that is my bed" annoyance flashed across her face and all jack could think is how pretty it made her eyes look.
"Oh" Jack thought for a moment and stumbled "we didn't? You know?" without thinking he waved his arms in vaguely explanatory rude way, caught himself doing it, and quickly put them down.
"No" it was a little dispiriting how quickly she said that no, Jack thought to himself. "You did tell me to give you this though in the morning" she handed him a beer mat. Jack took the mat and gave it his best shot at reading it, but through the hangover it just appeared to be messy squiggles, Jack conceded.
"What is it?"
"It's a beer mat with a bunch of messy squiggles on it" she said "you where three sheets to pissed when you wrote it, but I think it's a note to yourself saying 'she's nice don't screw up'"
"Oh" this was common, he often wrote himself notes "are you nice?" Jenny looked at him for a beat and said sternly
"You didn't sleep in a bus stop" and then brightly "Tea?"
"One sugar, wow, you are nice" sitting up in bed Jack strained to remember the night before, there was a bunch of people in a room but that was about all his blur of a mind would filter through right now. "Did I meet you at the party last night?"
"Yes, but it wasn't strictly a party, it was a conference meeting with the district manager that you turned up drunk to." Balls thought Jack.
"Sounds about right, so I chatted you up there?" he ventured as he scanned the room for his trousers.
"Don't flatter yourself" she giggled "my boss told me to get you into a taxi after you got on the table and accused him of being a ‘brain head’, whatever that means." Inwardly jack squirmed as flashes of himself with his tie round his head, Rambo style, came back.
"And I ended up here, how?"
"You told me that you were too drunk to remember where you lived but if I came to the pub with you it would probably come back" he was surprised at himself
"Smooth, and you believed that?" he called too her as she padded bare foot to the kitchen.
"Of course not" she called back "but I hate meetings to".