shame

i drove drunk last night. and i fucking knew better. i happily smiled, laughed, said goodbye, said "yes, i'm fine", started off down the alley, and began to cry.
i halfheartedly applaud my ability to keep my mortifying moroseness somewhat private.
is it possible to embody both moronic optimism and crushing regret? about very nearly everything?
*
i cannot stop my thoughts long enough to concentrate on anything. i cannot listen, i cannot pause, i cannot remember the moment as it happens. sometimes i can. sometimes a sliver of calmness sneaks through. but mostly, my days are spent rushing towards their conclusion with very little absorption. i have gleaned little. and i feel like the spasticity is something apart from me, like a bad drug.
the only thing that truly seems to make sense to me is writing. when i reread myself i do so with the detached bemusement of "that is somebody who i could not spend more than 10 minutes around." and that impression acts as a catalyst to get up and walk away a bit more serenely.
obviously it is temporary.
i really do feel a bit insane right now.
and i am incredibly fucking lucky that i did not hurt anyone or anything whilst careening home last night. my own self-image is toast, but i deserve that.