Ephiphany Glee to Decaying Alcoholic

To swap from one extreme to another is strange, and absurdly uncomfortable.

I didn't want to work tonight. I knew all week that I didn't want to work tonight. I'm tired of always sleeping, of looking at texts saying, "drink tonight," meaning with someone other than myself, and knowing that I can't. Still, though, I drove to K Mart and parked in the distance, my Dunkin cup fresh and warm, my cigarettes plentiful even by frugal methods.
The moment I parked, I couldn't imagine getting out of the car so instead I sat and watched my co-workers mingle outside, smoking and laughing bemidst the obligatory pre-work complaints. It was nice, even as they stood and took the heavy steps inside, to see them without my presense, to know that I could listen without ears to their lives actual noise.
Still, the moment the last person walked inside, and my supervisor came to the door and peaked about for any stragglers before locking it, I knew that there was no way I was going in. So I sat and watched everyone walk from behind the window, their bodies dissapearing momentarily between shelving, the frowns and apathy slowly forming per interference to my view. As they all dissapeared, I put on "Reelin' in the Years" by Steely Dan, got out of the car and smoked a cigarette, burdenless and smiling.
Content with the situation, I got back in the car and decided to come home, grab beer and go do whatever.
"Click click click."
The battery died, except Steely Dan kept playing.
Not that big of a stint, except my friends, all stoners, tend to feed the stereotype of lazy. Because I don't smoke, my alienation from the old crew is rather concrete and, sure enough, everybody I called didn't answer.
An hour and twenty minutes later, with my phone dead, my cigarettes empty and my smile evaporated, I found somebody to jump my car and came home.

To go from "No work!" with the full understanding that I completely should not be skipping work and be so very happy, to a spoiled, angry, bored man-child is not something I dig. It's embarrassing, to be honest. I wasn't rude, but to know that for the last hour and twenty minutes the only thing I did was mentally complain about the "incompetance" of my friends was just bad behaviour, even if it was only in my mind, and it was on no level progressive.

Just stressed and drinking alone once more. The phone, of course, rings now, except I still don't have it in me to pretend I have compassion towards our time-worn, decrepid replationships.

Just so very childish.
Was this even worth skipping work for?