"Yeah, II saw your ghost tonightThe moment felt so realIf your eyes stay right on mineMy wounds would start to heal"
Ghost on the Dance Floor (2011) by Blink-182
I went out with a couple of my colleagues on Friday night to a bar slash poor man's club called The King's Arm and re-educated myself on why I don't club. The drinks are too expensive. The music's too loud and too popular. The air is smoke and the atmosphere stinks of the shrill desperation of fading youth. Instead of unwinding, I felt more like I was chaperoning two teenage daughters on a night in town.
I feel aged. I felt like I should be in a quieter bar somewhere having conversations over a decent drink. I miss the Himalayas, the lonely walks and dialogues with my thoughts, and the pervasive sense of perpetual holiday. I now have enough in the savings account to disappear for months and every new day dares me to do just that. These days, I'm drinking more than I should and it's threatening to become a problem - if it hadn't already.
A gray haired bloke who is outgrowing his middle age started chatting up one of my companions and bought her drinks - and I started feeling that familiar envy I get of beautiful women and cute girls. I always say that if I'm an attractive lady, I'd take advantage of it any way I could. Anyhow, he looked overly eager (and my friend certainly didn't come out to talk to old farts) so I intervened and immediately regretted I did because he then latched on to me instead for the next half an hour to complain about that perennial favourite subject of opinionated elderly men: the government. The worst part was that he didn't even buy me a drink for listening to him shout in my ear for 30 minutes over the orgiastic din about how much The Man sucks, bro. I can't give less of a fuck, pops. In fact, I give less fucks than all the eunuchs who ever lived in China.
I realised that my liver had grown in capacity over the last few weeks because I was still in possession of most of my senses after five drinks in quick succession. The fact that I could still report to work three hours after I left the club and do a 28 hour weekend shift was testament to my liquor-tempered constitution. Maybe I'm far more depressed than my initial self-assessment had let on. Maybe I was looking for resolution at the bottom bottles much like people who have lost their keys kept looking in the same places as if their missing keys would magically materialise there if they check more than once. Unrewarding futility is starting to be a running theme in my life. It's wearing me down, rubbing me raw. There are moments at work where I feel like screaming and screaming and screaming and screaming and screaming, and only that modicum of self-restraint and self respect I still hold on to checked me from giving in.
Why does the lack of a lover, of intimate companionship unbalance me so? Is it because for the most of my last ten years of life, I did not have to do with the inconvenience of living without it? Am I really so spoilt?
I need sleep so badly.
 |
| My two teenage daughters. |
I feel aged. I felt like I should be in a quieter bar somewhere having conversations over a decent drink. I miss the Himalayas, the lonely walks and dialogues with my thoughts, and the pervasive sense of perpetual holiday. I now have enough in the savings account to disappear for months and every new day dares me to do just that. These days, I'm drinking more than I should and it's threatening to become a problem - if it hadn't already.
A gray haired bloke who is outgrowing his middle age started chatting up one of my companions and bought her drinks - and I started feeling that familiar envy I get of beautiful women and cute girls. I always say that if I'm an attractive lady, I'd take advantage of it any way I could. Anyhow, he looked overly eager (and my friend certainly didn't come out to talk to old farts) so I intervened and immediately regretted I did because he then latched on to me instead for the next half an hour to complain about that perennial favourite subject of opinionated elderly men: the government. The worst part was that he didn't even buy me a drink for listening to him shout in my ear for 30 minutes over the orgiastic din about how much The Man sucks, bro. I can't give less of a fuck, pops. In fact, I give less fucks than all the eunuchs who ever lived in China.
I realised that my liver had grown in capacity over the last few weeks because I was still in possession of most of my senses after five drinks in quick succession. The fact that I could still report to work three hours after I left the club and do a 28 hour weekend shift was testament to my liquor-tempered constitution. Maybe I'm far more depressed than my initial self-assessment had let on. Maybe I was looking for resolution at the bottom bottles much like people who have lost their keys kept looking in the same places as if their missing keys would magically materialise there if they check more than once. Unrewarding futility is starting to be a running theme in my life. It's wearing me down, rubbing me raw. There are moments at work where I feel like screaming and screaming and screaming and screaming and screaming, and only that modicum of self-restraint and self respect I still hold on to checked me from giving in.
Why does the lack of a lover, of intimate companionship unbalance me so? Is it because for the most of my last ten years of life, I did not have to do with the inconvenience of living without it? Am I really so spoilt?
I need sleep so badly.
On the road to ruins,
k0k s3n w4i
20 comments:
I think as much as we hate it we somehow need the ball & chain...... like i'm not sure why you don't just up and leave and go "do what you love" as many have purportedly done, I'm guessing throwing oneself at the mercy of passions gives a crippling sense of unfulfilment.
my god you are so maudlin D:
i think the most self-indulgent thing you can do is wonder rhetorically why you're depressed. to me, being depressed and ranting about it is okay. but it's so melodramatic and somehow i picture you holding a skull a la "Alas poor Yorick, I knew him well" :P
ap: because I have the good sense to avoid succumbing to my emotions. or the lack of it. it's hard to tell.
Terri: if you are ranting, you aren't depressed - you are annoyed or angry. and I had to look up maudlin in a dictionary to make sure that there isn't an alternate definition I was unaware of. thing is, I'm not feeling depressed. I'm just wondering if I am, judging from the decisions I've been making lately.
I prescribe reading "The Lucifer and the Biscuit Hammer" as a possibly effective treatment for your moodiness.
I love reading your post!
Sometimes it cheers up my day
Keep writing ~
Stay strong!
Being single is great, you'll see. Girls are the most troublesome creatures anyway.
If you need an anchor, you can make one of the person you want to be. It's infinitely more dependable than being the kite at the end of someone elses string.
stop drinking
Rewarp: read the first chapter. it's not growing on me. I'll give it a couple of chapters more. the problem I have with mangas is that they never have any end in sight - I find that unsatisfying. my faves are ,kodomo no jikan and chobits, by the way.
Anonymous #1: uh okay?
c3rs3i: well, that depends on the girl. not all girls are troublesome. two out of the three girls I've dated were no trouble at all. and "making an anchor of the person I want to be" sounds incredibly unsatisfying - particularly if you know who I want to be.
Anonymous #2: or what?
I had that same exact thought. But stuck with it because of the rave reviews from the otaku community.
It didn't take me long to agree with them.
Forgot to add. The story has a proper ending. One of the best endings for any story I have encountered in recent memory.
I think the only other story that satisfied me to such an extent with a proper ending was the last episode of Stargate Universe.
But I may already be hinting too much. Best to enjoy the tale without knowing anything beforehand except that it is probably the best manga series I have read to date.
all things must pass
Rewarp: the bugle was great so i'm going to trust you on this one.
anonymous #2: why do i suddenly get this urge to punch you in the face?
QUALITY sleeping time is what you need, not nap, mind you.
I am looking forward to your next cocktail mixing.
a mind can blow those clouds away
I think we're all afraid of being alone, hence the unbalance. Nothing wrong with that.
You drink to forget Phobe but it ain't working so you drink more to forget her but it ain't working so much more so you ... the cycle goes on. Do you admit it? That you miss her more than you want to let the world know?
I am in Mcleod Ganj for the summer! Coming back after four years and it has changed a bit; more houses and restaurants. Monsoon will start in a month. eek... Have a great summer, yourself. ;D
Anonymous-
Maybe your comment will be just the trick to persuade KSW to share his heart and soul if he hadn't wanted the world to know before.
I don't see what you are trying to (or can, for that matter) achieve with your leading questions anyway. You want a written admission he's not over Phoebe? For what.
If your motivations stem from concern he has a budding drinking problem and you want him to recognise and remediate, perhaps adopt a more constructive approach.
Sow Yay: as do I.
RL: gasp, you said the 'A' word!
Anonymous #3: don't be daft.
c3rs3i: thanks. and I should be dry for the next couple of days, seeing that I'm going on a little trip.
The fact that it even occurred to you that you might have a drinking problem probably suggests otherwise. Haha. Hi Kok. I hope you've been well.
And I never realized you appreciated the Himalayan tranquility so much.
Pema
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