"Now I know that I'm notAll that you gotI guess that II just thought maybe we could find new ways to fall apart"
We Are Young by fun. featuring Janelle Monáe
This is a two days old post.
My head feels light. I had a double serving of Cosmo after dinner and now I'm chasing it with a Black Russian which tasted suspiciously un-harsh, a reliable sign that I am at that stage of inebriation when liquor tastes great with little or no dilution and every idea conceived by my mind sounds brilliant. One more drink and I'm going to call my ex, if I haven't already consigned her number to oblivion.
With every song I streamed on YouTube, it is becoming increasingly clear to me that I'm in that familiar place where life is shallow and strangely bleached of purpose. There's an undercurrent of heartache that I'm so used to that I've accepted it as the baseline of my paint-by-numbers existence. My job at the hospital is an unrewarding series of episodes of human tragedy; a perpetual ongoing advertisement of the futility of clinging to our transient lives. In the past one month, I have told two different friends not to kill themselves. I would have sounded more convincing if I actually believed in living.
An elderly woman with failing kidneys told me today that "her heart aches" at the long hours I work, at how she sees me every day of the week - weekends or public holidays alike - and I lied to her, saying that I love my job. I don't know why I did that.
I think I am over my ex-girlfriend. I believe what I am experiencing is the hollowness she left behind, and that is a crucial distinction to make. I'd like to be dating again if I actually have the time to do it. I kept having this fantasy of a girl, reaching and pulling me out of the prison of lassitude within which I'm trapped - but my heroine never materialised. That is really what I missed most. I missed the idea that there are seven billion people on this rock suspended in an ever-expanding emptiness and one of them is mine. And I hers.
Finding a reason to live,
k0k s3n w4i