Writing this the day after. Ask no questions, hear no lies. Sharp!
I woke up over extended by last night and because of last night. Hahaha. It was epic; a dance between oysters actually looking for a crab and the crab playing match maker without a stick to trap them. Okay, so maybe the crap did not take such role and yet she might have all the same.
The first thing I did in my regrettable state was to do away with all and any responsibility under the guise of the fatigue of a labourless week. First, I tended to my drumming head though and went back to sleep, the fullness of the guilty of my abdication resting on top of the hangover so that I felt nothing at all, really. How many times have I even been hungover.
I woke late to attend an event that forms part of the important work of this trip, jubilant at the prospect of further extending my inebriation at the expense of another. That cheque would not be honoured this day.
This was the work of a friend who doled out to be the truth in such black and white that all colour left the margins and ends of my misplaced mischief. Bruh, I was read for filth. But it was all very honest, very sobering, very brutal an exchange on things I already knew, and still know, but do not know better about. A necessity for the salvaging of that relationship and also for the validation that I did not choose the wrong ones. Or that I had not changed too much (by foreign perception) to still be the right one.
Which in itself is also troublesome for the amount of solace I took from it. That’s only the beginning.
When ever I have had too much to drink, or having drunk too quickly, or acted unlike myself in a way which is unacceptable to the self, I spend the next day sleep. That right, the whole day.
It is not for the total lack of the faculty to perform mentally and physically as a person, but rather the presence of that. It is in those moments that I sit with myself quietly, or slumber as it were, and have dreams about nonsense which mean everything and remember things which should have mattered when they happened. I tend, in that enveloping silence, to think about who I am, what I’ve done and what I am willing to hold myself accountable for. While this process always stinks of melancholy, the opposite is true about it happening when I am under the influence of influenzas of the none avionic derivative. Wow, that was a sentence. Lol. Truly, why is it that I am able to be that much more charming, honest, contemplative, direct, quick when I am drunk?
Well, Chuck, I put it down to caring in those moments more than in any others. In watch others less, and caring about using that time for what it is for. For letting bygones be bygones. And for being unafraid of all my mental, physical, sexual, spiritual, intellectual, and all of those other -al prowesses. Friday night was the comfort of being invited, and included because of me as I am, and probably as I would become, in a way which did not warrant suspicion or investigation or apprehension. Not sorry for the synonyms, I am trying to help you alone.
The silence which Pink speaks about in sober is the same as mine. And I am unsure why I avoid it. I ain’t got all the answers, Sway!
I am on the way to mastering this silence, and listening to myself truly. That way, I will fill the gap between who I am sober, and who I am drunk so that I would no longer need to write myself notes, or stow away valuables for safekeeping from myself to myself. Or maybe, excitingly, I would find a new side of me. Indeed!
Alas, what is also pressing now is that I go to Church. Now, and immediately. Then perhaps after that watch the stars somewhere. And also unlearn this thing of letting people influence how I feel, and react, so much.
On a tangent quick quick, I saw the Millionheiress just now and if you see it, any other questions which might be brewing with your amusement and concern will be evaporated. Sharp!