Not haha funny

Once again I find myself lying in my own bed thinking harshly of myself. Not much I can do about it and another drink crashes through my liver releasing endorphins and brain cells. My life is a blur through no reality but my own, and only then can I live through it. I am a prisoner to my own imagination meandering through daily life with undeniable befuddlement of how keep an orderly life. I envision myself as a modern day Henry Miller. One conquest after another only thinking of myself, a more familiar Cyrano sans the physical impairment, just an idiosynchratic personality that attracts people but not friends. Gawky onllokers along for a joyous ride at my naive thought processes expense. I've been called "a foolish winner" and the "unsuspected player"; I presume these are underhanded compliments. I don't know.