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.

Modus operandi

Drove her to the airport amidst uneasy silence. Few kisses in haste, and she's gone. At least for the time being. Blankly speeding off minutes later, the experience is numbing. Fifteen hundred miles in between make it slightly complicated for weekend visits, especially with no direct flights. In a split of a second, I am a bachelor again!

And insomnia is back with a vengeance. Staring into the night does not help. Nor does anything else. The apartment that seemed to be too small yesterday is too large for my liking instantly. And I'm restless. And useless.

Paying a visit to a jazz club. You're here?! — the singer spotted me. She tries to smile but is too tired. She's pregnant. It's been like... seven years, yeah, seven years. I wish we had something to talk about, yet we have very little in common. She sings Midnight at the Oasis, I hate that song ever since I saw it in Lost in Translation. I leave as soon as the band packs. No urge to get pissed. And I'm driving, anyway.

I stare. I'm losing the grip. I'm losing motivation. And I wonder what's next.

Must indulge in work and sports, that's the only way. Make money and get in shape. No daydreaming, no contemplating. That's the plan.

Quite a party

I hardly know anybody in this city but my brothers and very few friends, perhaps.

Wrapped in a long overcoat guiding a bunch of strangers through the streets, sightseeing, drinking, eating out. It is awkward, I'm so focused I cannot find a moment to relax.

Quite a party, right? — the general asks once he's signing off my expenses.

3521 British Pounds. Yeah, quite a party, just why it seems I missed it?

Flashback

It's 4 am. Lights are on, telly in the background. Just chatting with someone on the other side of the planet. Drinking ice tea, eating cookies. I'm to go to work in a few short hours, I guess.

It's all flashing in front of my eyes. Just Jim Beam is missing from the picture.

She'll be gone soon and I'm condemned to insomnia again until she's back. Or until there's another one.

iPhoniosis

I always knew it wasn't right. To message while driving. To chat on Google while driving. To email while driving. Normally it works. This time it didn't. What can I say? Being stuck in the traffic seemed to be a good excuse to work.

It wasn't. Couple of hundred euros later I know. And hopefully I'll remember it.

Promotion

I'll have latte and a bottle of still water, please, I'm saying slowly and politely to a waiter in a fancy café. Today is Tuesday and it's my second informal chat since I was promoted last Friday.

Talking about squash, golf, traveling and women. Makes me laugh.

Only I have to deal with a slightly nervous babe waiting for me at home once we're done. And a presentation to be prepared for tomorrow morning. And over a hundred emails waiting to be answered. And, and, and!

Sorry, mister, I have to run.

Love is in the air

They got to know each other 20 years ago and were part of the same circle of friends since. She used to be popular, not by being the sexiest but by being herself, funny and outgoing. And he loved her, oh yes, he loved her from the very first sight.

She's been with few boyfriends who came and went while he was always around for her. As a friend, confidant, companion, a soul mate. She would probably never realize he was the one if he didn't look elsewhere. The possibility of losing him finally made her act.

They got married surrounded by the same bunch they've been a part of for two decades and settled in the city.

It seems like an ordinary story until now, doesn't it? Yet there's a twist. She's a flight attendant. Living abroad, hardly ever coming home to see her husband. She still feels like flying as she's approaching her mid-thirties. No urge to have kids. No urge to be at home.

He's patient and humble, not taking it lightly but able to cope. She's coming for Christmas, he says and tries to avoid talking about it any more.

I can sense what's in the air. He may consider looking elsewhere again. They hadn't spent proper time together in years. He's overlooked and bitterness is slowly rising from within.

I guess we learn after Christmas. Fingers crossed, their love can make it.

Interview

Getting old enough to have clear priorities and goals. Where, how, with whom. General direction is no longer acceptable, I can sense the anxiety raising from within.

Sitting in a decent restaurant, having dinner; I'm not looking at her — I'm observing, scanning, scrutinising, watching her perhaps too closely, studying her too attentively. I cannot help it. It's necessary.

I'm staging similar meetings with a number of them. Doing the maths with no emotions. If I choose, I have to choose right. Once I get the answer for this question, I'll fill in the other two easily.

New York is fine

It's my last night around. It's quite late but this city truly never sleeps. Having beers in B Bar with a bunch of random friends, pub-crawling for few hours, then taking a cab to mid-Manhattan and slowing down. A chat in a lobby and leaving for Times Square, just for a short moment. Very late supper in a local Yoshinoya, it reminds me of the good old times. A photograph, then off. Off to Harlem, that is. Such a great neighbourhood! I'll miss it here.

JFK at noon. I'm home by the next morning, happy and sad at the same time. How was it, they keep asking me; and I just answer fine. New York is fine.

Ontario, East River & co.

It's late after midnight. Sitting at the bank, sounds of a water splashing and a young blond kitty bursting next to me are mixing together. Ego masturbation; I can still make these misses laugh. I need another gulp and avoid looking at her. I can't let my insticts rule. If only I could...

Few days later, sitting at a different bank, sounds of a water splashing and hundreds of people bursting are mixing together. It's not my fault, blame Big Lebowski from the silver screen. I wish for a gulp and a kitty, I'm conveying to myself sadly. If only I could!

And then — I'm giving up to my instincts: Six donuts for $3.99? Can't help it!

Decisions

I often don't know; chained by vague priorities, faint directions, indistinct hints. And by habits, circumstances and conditions. And much, much-much more.

And then coming home, and the same again — I do not know.

Still; I have to make decisions, today, tomorrow, always. I guess one thing I hate more than making decisions is not to make any.

Eat alone!

Never eat alone, said Keith Ferrazzi some years ago and I tried my hardest to do so.

Yet there's exceptions. Two weeks without privacy, at the most unimaginable non-private places of all. Tranquil Himalayas.

Eating with and talking to total strangers every day or rather every few hours at breakfasts, tea stops, lunches, dinners, smoke stops, pot stops and more; to people walking in one's direction or the opposite one, to the ones sitting next to a trail, falling behind, not to forget overtaking ones. All of them. Greeting and yakking about weather, mountains, trails, home, tourism, politics, economy, about any subject one can come up with. When they're bored or when they feel they're having the time of their lives. Whatever reason they can find. Their choice.

Seeing them again and again as trail winds up and then being unable to escape as it rolls down. Up to the point when one wishes to be locked up in London Tower to enjoy solitude.

Then suddenly it is over. Civilization, God bless it with eternal life, brings privacy back. Boarding the plane in Jomsom and landing in Pokhara, it's over in a blink. Or rather in about 17 minutes. There's crowds here — but crowds are good. Crowds mean anonymity. And quiet, if one wishes so.

Sending postcards, browsing through bookstores, reading H2G2, hanging out shopping for useless souvenirs, spending time on one's own. Not to be bothered by anybody; being alone never felt so good.

One learns to appreciate dry subtropical autumn in cafes, restaurants and gardens very quickly. This is the way holidaying means to be!

Hence I'm secretly planning the same in the Big Apple this summer.

Psst, don't tell anybody.