Restart

Can I sleep at you place?, I asked her candidly a mere three weeks ago. Since, we grew closer again. I'll be in town on Wednesday, I message her a week later, if you don't mind my going to some business party, I'd love you to join. Quite the opposite, I'd love to see you, she responds.

We walk the dog swiftly and then drive to the party and park right in front of the nightclub, sort of Hollywood-like. No tickets are no problem and we get in without hassle. Free drinks, a buffet, casino-styled entertainment.

She's knocking the glasses of wine far faster then I can drink my water. Playing table football, dancing and laughing a lot before I lose her in a crowd. A bit tipsy, she's being chatted up by some local chap. Takes me a while to retake her and I decide it's better a time to go.

Speeding through the city, we only smile at each other once I stop. She hardly walks and I literally carry her home. She's hugging me, not letting go. Oh dear, I whisper. I have to go. Don't go, please, she's begging. Please, she keeps whispering. I'm going anyway.

I feel really sick, the message beeps before I get home. Speeding through the city the second time, I'm back at hers in ten minutes. Laying her down, I'm to go again, at least to the other room. Stay, stay with me, she mumbles.

I stay, making sure she's fine, trying not to jump to conclusions too quick. She's just got drunk, right? Right??!

I'm taking her for breakfast in the morning while she's amazed at herself: I can't believe I let you sleep in my bed; I never... —

— You're lovely; lovely even when you're wasted — I cut her short. She blushes and I know we are where we left last year. It's all cool again.

Forlorn

Business meeting held in a small town lost somewhere between France and Switzerland. Intermittent Internet connection, regular meals and lots of tea, coffee and snacks. There may be fifty of us around, mostly older than me. Managers, directors, you name them. Just few seem to be out of place as I am, others seem to love it. Hardly anyone wears a wedding ring, I noticed shortly and then just kept starring at people's fingers, obsessed, mesmerised.

Bonjour, monsieur. Bonsoir, monsieur. S'il vous plaît, monsieur.

They walk by and they nod nonchalantly and their suits seem to make them into a sort of weird mannequins they originally strived to be. Now they are. Flicking through their iPads, checking their Blackberries, playing buzzword bingo in a business lingo.

What kind of life is this? I could not see them walking around the lake or take photos of this sleepy spa town. And I'm stuck with them, too, without a possibility of parole. The shuttle will only arrive in three days.

Au revoir, monsieur. Bon voyage, monsieur.

I'm slightly melancholic as I'm watching the scenery when being driven to the airport. I'm glad when we take off. God forbid I'd ever become one of them.

Getting better

Sitting in the corner, watching the crowd. Friends, coworkers and a handful of girls I got to know slightly better. I'm watching them calmly, all those characters who have been shaping my life since I moved here four years ago.

— I'm feeling honoured being invited, — one of my colleagues tells me few minutes later. — I really am.

It's surprising but touching to hear and I'm glad they're having fun. They're blending together, many of them having never met each other before. I divide my time and speak to everybody, introducing folks when necessary. It's smooth.

— Can I sleep at your place? — It's hard to believe I'm asking this just a couple of weeks after I decided not to be visiting her anymore and kept refusing her invitations.

— Rather not. — She's firm and I know I should not argue. A kiss on the cheek and she's gone.

Still, somehow I feel much better than two weeks ago.

A week in the life

A friend of mine died last Sunday. I was only told on Monday and just could not get, could not comprehend it. My brightest recollection of the times we had? Sharing a joint in front of our corporate offices with a number of colleagues passing by. Very funny and daring back then. Very numbing now. Very, very numbing.

Monday, it was her birthday — and she asked me to come see her. I emailed her back, a bit harshly. Yeah, it could had been a hair softer, yet what would had been different? Nothing would had changed.

Went home and drove my ex in instead — to have someone to look after me. It was a primal need; calming, calming, calming.

Come Tuesday, I did not feel much better. Could not stop thinking about it. He was only 35. Fucking 35. One day he's here, the next one, click, he's gone. Fucking gone.

Wednesday. Meeting with a CEE lead of a major corporation, long miles away from home. Driving there and back; exhausted but happier. Happier — only 'cos exhausted. My ex is still at my place, still looking after me. I'm grateful. This time around, I can appreciate it.

Thursday. Difficult talks. There's few people who won't be working for us next month and they don't know yet. Plus a party in a posh hotel for a bunch of wannabe VIP clients in the evening. They get wasted, it's free. I talk, I laugh, I take the bill. And drive some of them home. Classic.

On Friday, I found out that my director is amongst those who got smashed. He misses a couple of morning meetings, comes in late and leaves early, being moody and slightly less articulate then usually. I split few minutes later, too.

Having a quick nap and meeting friends in a bar soon after. Off to a party shortly. Morgan, Morgan, and more Captain Morgan. I'm not drinking, just having a toast. Somebody is celebrating something. They all knew him, every single one of them. We used to party together but nobody utters a word, it's like a strange taboo. And his funeral was held earlier today. Tough, tough life.

Sleeping well past midday, then going through the shit at home, trashing a lot away. The less you have, the more you have. Things are not to be loved.

Saturday afternoon. A call from a friend. Join us for a dinner — our place at 8:00. Red or white? Get some red, I'm told.

Indian, ouzo, dubstep and two visiting Spanish girls who just flew in from Madrid. A nightclub. Then another. I'm a designated driver and I don't mind. This is a third night in a row, and the best one, too. Sipping water, smoking joints, dancing. Me, dancing; so unusual. Enjoying the night far more than I'd have hoped for.

Is this guy a foreigner? — a random chick asks me in a club, pointing to a friend who passed out on the sofa. Nah, he's a pure local, babe, I grin. She's no longer interested, walking away disappointed before I finish the sentence. Bitch.

It's a late morning, the sun is up. Talking to one of our girls when the music stops. We'll cook a Spanish dinner, you must come, she urges me seriously. Sure I will. Driving them home through the streets filling with shoppers and tourists, kissing her goodbye.

Dropping unconscious as soon as I reach my bed. Filled with weird feelings, mess, yet content. Bring it on, life; I adore you anyway.

Encore

For the most part, I'm holding him tight as he's acting unpredictably. Poor slob, I wonder what his fate would be once he loses his true home. I feel for him. She cannot manage anymore and he's to go. This may very well be the last time I'm walking him.

We're strolling silently along each other and I smile at her whenever our eyes meet. I don't wanna talk; I enjoy this somewhat unpleasant situation — enough was said and I grew tired of repeating myself over and over again. She'd talk — I see she'd talk — if only I started and made it slightly easier for her.

Her place. She's inviting me in, just for a minute, she begs. There's no pretension, not a bit, and I'm aware this is the hardest part. The parting part. Please, stay, she looks at me and my heartbeat skips. She's pushing, it's crystal clear she'd like to spend more time with me.

Few weeks ago, I'd do, too, I'd love to shut the door behind me, seize her and throw her on the bed, tearing off her clothes and doing it. Tonight, I don't even fantasise. Bye, I utter — and I'm gone. Gone to heal my wounds.

Out there

Tell me I'll never have to be out there again — that's what Harry's and Sally's sidekicks promise each other after they receive withdrawn phone calls from their respective friends.

It's easy to comprehend why people are ready to accept unacceptable. Fear. Fear of being left alone and forgotten is what drives all those thirty-somethings to act; suddenly willing to compromise and settle. Often settle for less. Fear of being passed by. Fear of unknown. The same drives people to stay in not-so-overly-happy relationships. Linger, linger, linger a bit more. I understand the concept very well. Just am not willing to follow and participate anymore.

She's still filling my thoughts, throughout. I cannot stop thinking about her. Yet even as we spent evenings walking together I kept contemplating.

Was this to be? Such a simple question and such uncertainty. Forget it, I had been told by everyone in the know. Things done cannot be undone, I've known her already too well and cannot take all those moments back. It's late, far too late. So much for forgetting.

OK. Cool. Hopefully just a half a year of cold turkey and I'll be fine.

Or at least slightly better.

Choices

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.

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.

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.

Lenny Kravitz, Prague 15 November 2011

The great gig in the great company. The usual Lenny's set, no exceptions. And me, so brutally shaken by her glances and smiles. Tough, tough life.

Main Set: Come On Get It * Always On The Run * American Woman * It Ain't Over 'Til It's Over * Mr. Cab Driver * Black And White America * Fields Of Joy * Stand By My Woman * Believe * Stand * Rock And Roll Is Dead * Rock Star City Life * Where Are We Runnin' * Fly Away * Are You Gonna Go My Way

Encore: I Belong to You * Let Love Rule

Can't Get You Off My Mind

Speeding through the night, countryside flitting behind the windows, music filling the space. And my mind — helpless, flaccid mind — keeps staring numbly ahead. Insecure, fleeting glances are culminating into a full-blown mess that is taking its toll. Both literally and metaphorically.

Life is just a lonely highway
I'm out here on the open road
I'm old enough to see behind me
But young enough to feel my soul

Few days later, having a night out with friends. Waking up slightly dizzy, nevertheless great. Missing you, the display says. Please don't make it harder for me, I respond half asleep. And then quiet, somehow hurting. Falling asleep again before taking off to enjoy unbelievably sunny and warm November.

I've got a pocket full of money
And pocket full of keys that have no bounds
But then I think of lovin'
And I just can't get you off of my mind

This really is all wrong.

Mess

Bought the tickets for Lenny's gig and read Isaacson's book on Jobs over the weekend. Walked a lot. Hardly spoke to anybody. Calmness. Inner purity. Naivety? What was I thinking? This meant to be just the quiet before the storm.

Came to work too early on Monday morning and did not cool off for a single moment of the standard twelve hours. Barked a lot. Sent a full hundred of emails, some pretty harsh ones, too. Intense, restless day. Few swift meetings. Why do people talk bullshit to express simple ideas?

My hitched perplexed mind cannot stop wondering what is to come. I seldom feel so vulnerable, so naked. But maybe more so is she and it's me who fucked up. By even thinking about it.

I'll rip you apart — I'm being told fondly.

And I just keep wondering.

Shakespeare 2.0

Sans tragic ending, this would make a great love story with a twist: Juliet having balconies at two opposite sides of her bedroom — and while there's two troubadours, there can only be one Romeo.

And it is not me.

Addiction

7 AM and I'm back at work. Switching on the lights, making an early morning tea and flipping through business news. Deleting spam, answering emails, checking yesterday's figures. Looking at the empty yard below, sipping from the hot mug, meditating. I should get ready for a meeting.

Blink!

It's 7 PM and I'm still at work. Drinking an evening tea, slowing down. Regular dose of heart attacks, agitated discussions, heated phone calls, tireless explanations, meaningful or less-so meetings, emails sent and received, plus a good laugh, a good laugh above all, is coming to a close.

It's freaky but it's fun everyday.

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.