Four — or maybe just three days left. And then I'm gone. Perhaps I won't stop — but still, it will feel great knowing I can. I have plans. There's places I'd go to. People I'd like to meet. Things I'd like to do.
However questionable my feats and thoughts may appear to be, often even to myself, life has become much simpler once I've realised it's only my choice to live it my way. And yeah, it is fun, no matter how difficult it seems.
20 December 2011
18 December 2011
Retreat
Based on a proper assumption and years of experience, I took a bus to a weekend retreat. The assumption was, of course, that I would not be able to get back in time, would I need to wait to regain senses, a.k.a. get sober enough to drive. The weekend retreat is, of course again, just an assumed alias for a drinking spree covered as a Christmas party. Imagine "Last Christmas" of Wham mischievous fame, sans mountains, cabin and cheesy eighties. Sans cheesy romantic, too. Basically, what you get is a bash with a number of single thirty-somethings, all ready to rock and roll.
Anyway — long story short — while it took me four hours to get to my destination, it only took me one and a half hour to get from greetings to bed. In the meantime, I managed to get totally hammered and throw up number of times in various places, which included obvious favourites of drunks: a toilet and a balcony. Bad, too bad indeed.
Woke up at 5 AM, just in time to scribble this post, have a glass of water and return home for lunch. By bus, naturally, as my original assumption was correct. Too correct.
Anyway — long story short — while it took me four hours to get to my destination, it only took me one and a half hour to get from greetings to bed. In the meantime, I managed to get totally hammered and throw up number of times in various places, which included obvious favourites of drunks: a toilet and a balcony. Bad, too bad indeed.
Woke up at 5 AM, just in time to scribble this post, have a glass of water and return home for lunch. By bus, naturally, as my original assumption was correct. Too correct.
16 December 2011
Abyss
Spent the weekend shivering in bed. So did she, at the other side of the city. I was nursed by my ex, she was looked after by her boyfriend.
Almost a week later, I'm driving home late at night. I've been thinking ever since I got out of bed. And I have come to a conclusion, a very painful one: It leads nowhere. It makes me unhappy — in a weird, bizarre way — this love, it burns me from within, yet it's a cold, lifeless flame of inner numbness, of unreal expectations, of fruitless hope.
It hurts, getting so close and then stall. It's cruel, unfair, incomprehensible. And it's a drug, leaving me wanting more and more, falling deeper and deeper into the abyss of unrequited affection.
It leads nowhere, I must keep reminding myself.
Enough. Enough now.
Almost a week later, I'm driving home late at night. I've been thinking ever since I got out of bed. And I have come to a conclusion, a very painful one: It leads nowhere. It makes me unhappy — in a weird, bizarre way — this love, it burns me from within, yet it's a cold, lifeless flame of inner numbness, of unreal expectations, of fruitless hope.
It hurts, getting so close and then stall. It's cruel, unfair, incomprehensible. And it's a drug, leaving me wanting more and more, falling deeper and deeper into the abyss of unrequited affection.
It leads nowhere, I must keep reminding myself.
Enough. Enough now.
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