Withdrawal

It’s been four days without the water, the waves preventing us from launching has left me hot and bothered. I need to feel that blue rush, the anticipation as the boat surges through the waves, the spray sharding past the bow with a life of its own.

The reef rustling below as the sun’s rays kaleidoscope down into the deep blue. I need that symphony crescendo as the wreck rises out of the shimmering cloud of fusiliers.

I need Le Grande Bleu.

Danne’s and other dangalang

It was hot and the priest was rude. The obsequious required of us was not really to my taste either especially for someone who can’t remember a name, when that’s all they really have to do.

The most I could muster was a half bend at the waist, the task of remembering something that I really don’t want to, for the sake of absolving a non-forgivable guilt. I’m never sure what they expect of me…do they expect me to garner ping by feeding some people who have nothing better to do than sit on their asses all day and get fed once a day by fools?

Am I supposed to remember something I cannot, a voice that I can’t remember hearing, a betrayal that’s left me with multitudes of demons to fight without guidance?

To me it’s just bullshit. I’d rather forget, it might as well be any other day as far as I fucking care.

But then I don’t share in their guilt.

Why? O’ why?

I am absolutely fucking tired of the questions.

“Why did you leave? Isn’t it amazing there? You can have anything you want!”

“What are your plans now? What are you going to do?”

“You didn’t want to stay there and make some more money?”

It’s astonishing to me that somehow people think that they have some kind of right to question my decisions and motives because I did something they cannot comprehend doing. The questions from family members irk me the most. I know where they have fucked up and made mistakes and taken silly decisions but I’ve never pointed those out or questioned them. My take on it is if I wish to make a mistake, that should be my right to do. Maybe this was a mistake, maybe it’s the best decision I ever made in my life. Only time will tell.

‘Til then expect a roundhouse slap (at least metaphorically) if you ask me what I’m going to do now or any more of the inane questions described above. Make that a thundering roundhouse slap…

Endless Cycle

What? Really?! I can't fucking believe it. In a fit of nostalgia I checked out TLF to see how I was placed last year at this time. Imagine my surprise to read something I could have written this time around being none the wiser. I'm not sure whether to be bummed or somewhat comforted that at least this time around some things are better. There are a few normal people to hang out with (though I describe them as normal with some trepidation...hehe).

I also have a plan this time around. PhD application in the works for submittal in a couple of months. If that doesn't work out a PR application combined with a two year re-entry permit. If that fails another PhD application...if that fails...well there's always the bottle. It's somewhat of a plan, just requires pure survival for the next 10 months.

The similarities are eerie though, tragedy (though much, much more personal this time), unexpected plane rides, feelings that can't quite be extinguished no matter how much I try and push them into the back of my head. It's a bloody endless cycle of insanity and darkness. I feel broken, I'm not sure if I've felt this broken before but I know I feel broken. I want to lie down in a drugged up haze and sleep for six months. Wake up when the light at the end of the tunnel is flashing in my face. When the warm sun of home is rising, the greeny gold light and those brown eyes are in front of me. I feel broken.

Chemical Dependency

I feel like I should have a motherfucking PhD in this...sorry...channeling Ari Gold there  a bit. But it is a Friday night, I'm at home, having guzzled a pizza and currently two thirds of a bottle of wine wishing I had some maryjane growing on my balcony for the pickings. In my defense I worked a hell of a week and I feel like I've been gangraped by a bunch of silverbacks (more Entourage references).

A fucking week of putting out fires and getting my head bitten off in the middle of it. Add to that a distinct lack of sleep, mental angst and other shit. That I need to get on seventh heaven in order to get to sleep is causing me some concern. Grape nectar is a poor second choice, for one thing it gives me a blinding fucking headache the next morning but what to do eh? Of course a night of alcoholism, some groping and maybe a bbbj might put me to sleep. But then there's the lack of mojo, the lack of energy and the issue of the girl (as much as a dead end that is right now).

I'm fucked...

But at least I'm high...