A momentary lapse of reason

It's surprising how boyish you are — she contemplates — you seemed to be totally different when I first met you.

I'm trying to decode what is being said.

I would not mind working for you — she adds.

She left me speechless. Does it means extra points or have I just lost some? Before, they all used to say that they would have hated working for me. Loath, not hate, hate sounds too sweet.

Is she talking about the same demanding reckless prick, selfish unyielding brat I happen to know?

Something must be going on.

Communiqué

I'm driving her to my place for the first time. It's only her and me — and her German Shepherd. Though I've never had a dog, I feel fine around him and it appears that this feeling might be mutual.

I did not plan for this but looking back it seems it was inevitable. Suddenly we're only inches apart and I cannot resist the temptation. Fascinated to say the least. She's giving in, too, and airy touches transform into an absorbing fever in a blink. Here she is, in my bed, beautiful and nude on the verge of ecstasy.

He's watching the show sitting a mere meter away and somehow cannot handle it. Before she is to erupt, he makes known his opinion.

Throwing up was a crystal clear declaration of his thoughts.

Content

Sitting on the sofa, facing each other. Her cousin is just a meter away checking his Facebook account, entertaining the party with details of his life, e.g. dogs, work and home renovation to name a few.

I'm hardly listening. I'm only capable of exchanging fleeing glances with her and an occasional random smile. After all, that's all I long for.

She wants me to stay over but won't let me sleep in her bed; not tonight. Nevermind. Instead, she's stroking me as I'm laying my head down, then disappearing in the other room a minute later.

So little and so much happened in last twenty-four hours. I'm leaving her place before she wakes up early in the morning. The city is bathing in autumn fog but I cannot care less.

I'm at peace with myself and everything around: content with whatever's happening and whatever is or is not to come.

Game

The very last warm night of summer. Sitting high above the city, late at night. She led me over and I have no clue if this is just a friendly walk or something deeper. How the heck should I know? Guys are generally the last ones to figure out what's going on. And I've only known her for few hours.

She hints there's a boyfriend. But she gives me her number. She seems to like spending more time with me. But her body language is eerily neutral. She's evasive. But asking me if I'd stay over…

I just don't know. Well, whatever. I'm game, that's the point. Definitely game again.

At the party

— What do you do?, she asks.

— I fly around, courtesy of a multi-national corporation, enjoying posh hotels, quality food and great wine. I do nothing, in fact, not because I'm smart enough but because I've been shown how to forward emails.

She looks puzzled.

— Nuh, I'm just pulling your leg. I work 14 hours shifts, starting with Red Bull sans vodka at 7 and returning totally destroyed late in the evenings. You know, like, kaput! And then I answer emails till 2 a.m., but hey, that's just a hobby.

She looks even more puzzled.

No, this ain't the way. I should have known better.

Final cut

It just happened. It was inevitable, yet I could not project a moment it would. And then it seemed so natural. And calm. Yes, it was calm. Caring. Just tears: they quietly gave her away as they were rolling down her face.

I could not recall a more affectionate moment in a long time. It was so bizarre, I could feel we were connected more than ever before.

She's gone. This time, I guess, for good.

Movie night

I called my place a freaky hotel room once, she overheard it and repeats it ever since. Why, you live there, she keeps asking. I do, most of the time, yet it still feels more like a hotel room rather than a real home.

It's late at night, I'm slightly cranky and on my own. It's been like that for over five months now. Sleeplessness is becoming occasional and does not bother me anymore.

Flew in from Portugal and am off to Turkey shortly, followed by Slovakia and finally States by the end of next week. That's awesome, say some. Is it? Can a good life be measured by frequent flyer miles? Bank account balance? Number of Facebook friends?

Tonight, I'm having a movie night supported by Red Bull and chocolate. All good, just the usual dose of whinge. I'll get by hugging the pillow.

Changes

Walking down the Fifth Avenue feels very little like Breakfast at Tiffany's. The neighbourhoods uptown do much more; my temporary home alike, complete with jazz, bourbon and sash windows.

Anyway, Tiffany's no longer works for having mean reds. For 21st century phonies and lonely slobs, there's the Apple store just one block up.

Youth

Flipping through The Telegraph the other day, I stumbled across the following quote by Richard Halliburton from The Royal Road to Romance, first published in 1925. Well worth thinking about:

Youth — nothing else worth having in the world... And I had youth, the transitory, the fugitive, now, completely and abundantly. Yet what was I going to do with it? Certainly not squander its gold on the commonplace quest for riches and respectability, and then secretly lament the price that had to be paid for these futile ideals. Let those who wish have their respectability — I wanted freedom, freedom to indulge in whatever caprice struck my fancy, freedom to search in the farthermost corners of the Earth for the beautiful, the joyous and the romantic.

English way

Caressing that marvelous body of hers, breathing in her adolescence, her insecurity, her vulgar mindlessness. Stroking her hair, kissing her. Wondering how much of those feelings is reality and how much just a projection of my own imagination and sentiment.

Rationale: that's what's driving me in most cases but this. Drowning in as there's no solution other than cut it short or wait. Perhaps in vain, perhaps forever. No equation, no fundamental law to make things right — there's no equations and no laws.

Caressing that marvelous body of hers meaning to caress my brain to calm.

Hanging on in quiet desperation
is the English way

This is not my way. It's only a cold turkey of Sunday afternoon.

Linger

Walking around the city helped to ease the moment. There she was, in my bed, her youthful body inches from mine.

She could; she knew she could; and I felt I could, too. Yet we didn't.

Paraphrasing His Steveness: I’m as proud of what I don’t do as I am of what I do.

Brake

A car in the middle of nowhere. Wound down windows, loud music. Early morning.

Sunrise like a nosebleed
Your head hurts and you can't breathe
You been tryin' to throw you arms around the world

Here I am — everything's running smoothly, everything's been just great lately. Work-life balance represented by new toys I buy along the way. Watches, perfumes, attire. Dining in top-notch restaurants, traveling the world. Everything clicks perfectly. I tend to get things done my way.

Here I am — on the verge of the total physical exhaustion. This is the way, this is how to fight insomnia. Yawning.

No need to pull the emergency brake. This is what I chose.

Numbers

I'm flat, baby, and I mean it — I'm uttering as we're taking a walk.

I'd smoke but I don't. I'd drink but I can't. It's so simple to list a number of things I'm not interested in. Holding her hand and casually making love again and again seems to be enough for the moment. And falling asleep effortlessly — that's what really counts now.

Great and grim

A bit dreamy today. Woke up home all alone — yet it almost felt like having somebody by my side. Thoughts were piling, slightly nightmarish, slightly joyful. Bittersweet.

Slowing down to recharge over the weekend was a great idea. Only I have to keep reminding myself it can hurt.

Focused

Just arrived from Austria last night. Shower, few emails and then bed. Woke up at five, had a blood test done at 6:30 in the morning. Buying breakfast on my way to work, sending my first email at 6:45, leading my first meeting at eight.

Working till twelve, quick lunch in KFC and starting all over again. Till 6:45 pm. I need a break, I'm tired, I'm thinking as I'm driving off. Groceries, home.

— Would you come over to set up my router, mate?
— Yeah, no worries.

Coming back at 11. Wzzzz, interjects the phone as I'm putting down things for tomorrow. A short glance at display and I can throw it all away.

I'm off to France in the morning.

Baile Átha Cliath

How do you fight it?, she asks. I stay in hotels, it has always worked, I respond with a smiley. It's late at night and I cannot fall asleep.

Few days later. It's after midnight, I've just landed. Checking in and then taking a long stroll through the centre, listening to Sinéad O'Connor, an archetypal Irish rebel. There's hardly any people in the streets but for Temple Bar. I wonder around, having a sip of Guinness, then slowly walking by the Liffey quays back to the hotel.

And I sleep well.

Pathetic

Days flow by, being passed over carelessly. Alarm clock, bathroom, car. Buying breakfast, drinking tea, working, attending meetings, lunching, working again. Usually till late. Having or buying dinner on the way back. Book, Internet, sometime sports. And insomnia.

Few things, very few things are happening. What really counts? Donating frequent flyer miles to charity? Hardly. Calls to New Zealand? Perhaps. Writing a love letter? Who knows?

I sent one today anyway, thoughtlessly ignoring it may sound cheesy. Being pathetic is the act of passion. It's been over two years and I still keep wondering — may this be love?

Execution

Took a long walk late in the evening in a desperate attempt to fight insomnia. And then spent another two hours emailing, chatting and browsing the net anyway.

Still, the ideas are quite clear. They just need a proper execution.

As if it was a job. 'Cos in a way it is.

Prime

Making money, having more responsibility than ever, enjoying the work, flying all over the world and generally doing fine. And having kids and a beautiful wife by my side.

Somehow the second part of the dream failed to materialise so far. And I wonder if it's good or not.

Filling the void

Some time ago, I used movies to get over my sleepless periods. Sort of a harmless sleeping pill. I'd watch a movie late at night, browse the net and chat with somebody on the other side of the planet. Would I feel hungry or thirsty, pulsing city lights were just few floors down. And having the best 24/7 kebab shop in Sydney two blocks away, one could never lose.

These days, it's pretty much the same. I'll have Pepperoni, I'm calling the pizza place in my Gipsy quarter as I'm leaving the office. Twenty minutes, mate, the Macedonian with a thick accent replies. Suits me well.

Watched an old Czech sci-fi movie tonight, Ikarie XB-1 from 1963. I'm positive Stanley had watched it number of times before making his Odyssey. No more words needed — definitely worth seeing, even if one's not an insomniac.