At about 6.00pm on a Saturday night, you realise that your weekend is going to be like every other weekend so far - utterly, hopelessly, ridiculously unproductive.
You stumble to the bathroom, wiping the sleep away from your eyes, berating yourself for too many late nights, too many drunken frenzies, too many substances in too short a time. The mirror is scummy as you realise that it's your turn to clean the toilet, but you simply don't give a fuck. You stare, bleary-eyed at yourself and realise that it's been a while since you really took the time to ask questions about that hung-over blob in the mirror. Why is he looking quite so...fucked up? Then again, he has every right to be fucked up - he's done all he needs to - he's on top of his work, fulfilled his major social obligations and, on top of all this, he's having a blast. Why SHOULDN'T he look fucked up on a Saturday evening?
The cold water runs down your face onto your neck and you feel, for half a second, briefly alive.
Wallet, lighter, cigs, phone. It's going to be a long night.
You stumble to the bathroom, wiping the sleep away from your eyes, berating yourself for too many late nights, too many drunken frenzies, too many substances in too short a time. The mirror is scummy as you realise that it's your turn to clean the toilet, but you simply don't give a fuck. You stare, bleary-eyed at yourself and realise that it's been a while since you really took the time to ask questions about that hung-over blob in the mirror. Why is he looking quite so...fucked up? Then again, he has every right to be fucked up - he's done all he needs to - he's on top of his work, fulfilled his major social obligations and, on top of all this, he's having a blast. Why SHOULDN'T he look fucked up on a Saturday evening?
The cold water runs down your face onto your neck and you feel, for half a second, briefly alive.
Wallet, lighter, cigs, phone. It's going to be a long night.
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