So in the past week I have smoked cigarettes, eaten chips, drunk myself into a stupor three times, slept little, had sex with a boy, had quasi-sex with a girl, stared into space, smoked more cigarettes, eaten chick peas and sworn off myself all over again. Christ, I even packed a gym bag this morning, pumped full of the wrong kind of hormones and feeling queasy, with every intention of pouring my sweat out on the running machine.
I had this sudden lurching sensation yesterday morning when I realised somewhat belatedly that I was not actually heading towards anything - that life was looming ahead like one long treadmill and I had lost sense of my purpose. That the weeks and weekends were starting to look awfully similar. And I started to wonder if I'd ever had one at all. But I don't feel gloomy right now - far from it.
God it's been so long since I've written and I feel like there's so much to say. I have been instructed of late to have higher regard for my feelings than my intellect - and it feels ... it FEELS ... like a terribly fucking hard thing to do.
Some scenes: We're lying in bed and my eyes are puffy-pink, don't want to open. My mouth is glued, sick-sweet with empty champagne bubbles and I have this tenuous feeling that ... yes, yes we did. And I giggle, remembering the awful fumble of it, and surprisingly there is no awkwardness despite the abject lack of lust or love or anything! It isn't until later that I wake again to the hammers in my head and the cringe ... shit shit shit why didn't I write the article yesterday?! ... and trying to remember the difference between grecian and tuscan architecture.
Days earlier: I keep touching my finger to the corner of my mouth, amazed at myself. I flicker through the rememberances like celluloid, brief flashes of tongue and hand making me shriek out loud for their very nearness, their REALNESS. And I am half smirking, half shrieking, for the rest of the day.
I keep examining the circles under my eyes, painted darker every day. My pupils seem to grow darker and more distant in tandem. I swear, never again, never again, and my eyes - how they mock me.
I keep thinking about sex, the big bad and raw dirtiness of it and I am almost climbing the walls.