Sunday, March 19, 2006

I am terribly hung over. From tequila and gin, from life. I am shuffling around my flat with the grace of a dying dog, and I'm sure I have pulled a muscle in my neck from all the pogoing and head thrashing I did last night to White Riot and Common People and, oh dear,a bit of Jamiroquai as well ( thank god someone started to play The Clash as most of the guests drifted home, thank god for a dimly lit basement with only the hardcore or desperate left!).
     I danced until my feet could no longer keep up, met some lovely men, mixed my drinks, wafted around in my bright red scarf, came home and howled like I did when I was 13 years old and found out The Smiths were breaking up forever. So today, I'm feeling like a cross between Gollum and .. well Gollum. And all my openness, my zeal to fly into the glorious impermanence of living, feels like a rather silly idea. Far better to hide under my duvet and not come out til Spring 2007, I think. I did feel like a warrior, now i feel like a bit of old paper, blowing down West Street, smelling of fish and chips.
     Yes, it wasn't a straightforward jolly affair last night. W. drank 6 shots of tequila straight and fell out of the loft, spending the rest of the evening crawling around on his hands and knees. I narrowly avoided being persuaded into a table dancing show in M's kitchen, despite being given offers of cash for the privilege. There was this strange invisible stringy thing weaving it's way amongst certain people, of mixed boundaries, unrequited longings, tattered egos, fragile connections, sideways glances, battered hearts.
     Today I wake up lost and confused. And you know the most annoying thing? I can't now very well announce to the world or myself that I am giving up on this life and love thing, banging on as I have recently about how it's what I want, and given it took such a toll on me over the last couple of years to not do so. But I ask you, how do we not burn ourselves out? How do we pick ourselves up, brush ourselves off, and charge ahead, knowing full well we are 90% sure to be heading towards:

a: certain disaster
b: almost certain disaster
c: disaster for someone else
d: mere disappointment.

One of my highest tantric practices for a while has been watching Eastenders ( you may scoff but I grew up in North Wales, we didn't have Bach or Bertollucci there). On Friday, Martin had to face the fact that his wife of several years was leaving him for her best (female) friend. I used to think he was an appalling actor, but as I watched his rejected expression, as he sat alone in Paulione Fowler's front room, his face creased with the direct knowledge that he was now alone, I thought, yeah, we all go through this don't we, every fucking human being. We have all been there, will continue to go there again, and still, we will be ok, carry on living, maybe even carry on keeping our souls alight. It was a comfort and an insight, in these times for me of quiet and not so quiet unrest and change, to know, though I may feel it, I am never alone, and, in the words of Paddy McAloon.. ' nothing is ever lost'.
     I'm off now to the sea front to meet one of my closest friends, someone whom I have shared so much with and also been through hell and back with in some ways over the last two years. She's feeling shit too, we can sit and eat ice cream on the pebble beach, shiver a bit, and know that we understand, that we're there for each other, and that, we're ok, we really are. After all, it's an icy cold day today, but the sky is bluer than I've seen it in a long time, and the sun is definitely shining, even if I can't quite feel it.

1 comment:

theseus said... it not something that the sun is able to bring indifference anew with its rise?