I'm wired and I'm tired and I'm sick of having to make such an effort to walk in a straight line. The blandly elegant surroundings make me feel comfortable and soother as I sit back and sink into familiarity and old glamour. It's occasions like this, when I'm feeling vapid and forgetting details like the day and the time and the city and the point of it all and I wonder where it all went wrong, knowing that I should have known better, wondering why I didn't…..
Why now I have to go out thirty nights in a row trying not to notice that it has started to affect my once fresh image with signs of debauchery and abandon… And I can't decide if I care what people think or not.
As I try to step out of the taxi I'm already in my own little world of hearts and diamonds. Somebody catches me and I kiss him, and suddenly I'm nervous and shaky and someone hands me a drink and tells me to drink it, which I do. He leaves me and I drift towards a small door that looks too small to walk through, but it's okay because the closer I get, the bigger it gets, and I'm able to walk through and stand in a queue for what seems like hours, especially as the girl in front of me is wearing a watch that keeps ticking, tick, tick, tick, tick, tick, tick, tick…..
Then I begin to fade and just want to leave, feeling nauseous to my soul, wanting someone to hold me but seeing no-one but strangers with toxic eyes.
Time passed fast. I saw the sunrise. There was a sense of melancholia that shadowed the day's pale horizon. I realise that I don't really want to face consciousness at all.
The writing is superb. The content is sad and self destructive. Almost like a setting, in a love story, where the heroine is jilted and drowns her sorrows in the lost weekend. I am sorry it is a page out of your live story; but pages can be turned.