Saturday, June 22

It Would Be Heartless To Suggest

THERE IS A TERRIFIC tranquility in, upon a Saturday afternoon, whilst opening a beer, realising that one day I shall die. I have some Danish salami for my omelette, which I shall set about making in a moment, but for now I will relish in the knowledge that one day I shall die. I am very in love with that knowledge, because, you see, I never much cared for life; always felt shortchanged by it, always felt like it was lying to me, and nipping at my heels whenever it could. So I shall die, and feel most pleasant about it and just before I die I will regret my entire life. There will be nothing to do about that, then or now. I will just have to die. Then everything will return to normal and the people that knew me will slowly forget about me.
I eat my omelette with some Danish salami and salad leaves. Then I sit there and stare out of the window, drinking my beer. After the beer is gone and I’m left alone, I have a cigarette. The sky has darkened from sunny to grey, swollen with clouds; intimidating. The empty glass of wine from last night remains on my bedside; the dried remnants looking like a bloody chemistry experiment. As I clean up after lunch, I think of the one girl in the whole world I would most like to make love to. I don’t need any time to think: I know. She is better than me. She is the greatest person on the planet.
Another can of beer. It’s something to do. Enough beer will make me fall asleep so that time can pass by without having anything to do with me.
‘Just give me more time.’
Work is running me ragged. How am I supposed to forget about women when the last thing I do at night is orgasm? Every morning is the same: I promise not to drink that night – but the days are difficult and lonely. During my sleep I dream: of being banned from my favourite coffee shop; of my teeth falling out, I cry and I push them back into my gums, but they fall out again. Repeat ad infinitum.
I’m not terribly miserable, I’m just a string of chemical reactions that I have to put up with. Sometimes I feel like a dog; like the days are happening over & over again and I have no concept of time.

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