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.

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.