The room starts to spin and there's not enough gin to get the taste from my mouth of your slobbery, miserable kiss. Too much. Too much gin too much love too much of a terrible thing can be detrimental to the objective. To survive. To overcome. It's hard to do when I'm the reigning Queen of Crazy.
I loved him once. I loved him and would do anything for him, but now I can't be in a room alone with him without wanting to throw up and up and up and up. Please, God, let me pass out before I can feel.