Inadvertently Drunk

Last night, more than halfway through that bottle of scotch, I realized I was doing it again. Somehow giving advice on relationships, even though I'm completely dysfunctional. But I saw her making all my own mistakes, and realized that this was what my friends had been trying to tell me three years ago, and I had gone ahead and done what I wanted anyways. I tried to explain how hedonism doesn't make us bad people. Outside it slowly stopped raining.

Pouring generous measures into each of our glasses, I watched her heart break a little. I had no solace to offer, nothing to give her but to numb it all. I related my own experiences, wondered how that could possibly help, and retreated back into bitterness. Either way she would get hurt, and either way she would wonder what she had missed. Her only motivation to do the 'right' thing was what might happen to someone else, rather than any internal desire to be good. Shhh, I said, this sort of thing doesn't make us bad people either.

The tales turned from heartache and terrible mistakes towards weakness in the face of love. Have you ever loved someone so much that you would do anything to keep that love? I told her everything I had done, of my deepest weakness, the shame at being so willing to throw everything of myself away. But you're so strong. No. No I am weak, so weak, all I want is love. And how wonderful it would be to fall in love with someone wonderful, and how could she throw that away?

And so, she asked, if you were back at those crossroads with the same decision, knowing that it would be empty in the end to pursue your desires, that you could potentially lose something, or everything, lose the chance to fall in love, what would you do, having already learned the hard way that what you want more than anything in the world can also be your biggest mistake?

I smiled sadly, thinking of his face, and knowing that still now I would do anything, my weakness, my shame. Even knowing it would be empty, in the end. I would choose hedonism, I would choose desire. I would make the same mistake again.

She had tears in her eyes. I knew what she was doing. Held her. I don't want you to learn the hard way, but that is the only way to learn sometimes.

I went the hard way and still haven't learned.

Insomnia... again

Sleeping far too much interspersed with nothing at all, tonight the caffeine I used to wake myself up from a lazy afternoon has lasted over twelve hours, propelling me into dawn.

Daylight savings again, last night I felt so introspective. Outside the circle of elbows and poker chips, I wondered what day it was, and how the past month had gone by so quickly and emptier than all the ones before. How I felt really strange with my blank slate, how the clutter in my room was starting to depress me more than the unwritten paper weighing on my mind. I keep digging through piles of references becuase I'm afraid to start. Tomorrow, I told myself, tomorrow.

But this morning turned into this afternoon, into two espressos and pirated television shows, and still nothing changed. Articles and deteriorating purple highlighters. I felt wretched and begged off the gym, nobody to blame but myself, then spent all evening feeling twitchy and unwell. Tomorrow, I told myself. Took a long bath, scrubbed the uselessness away and watched it descend. Read a short story about Stanley Park and felt a deep desire to lose myself in trees. I miss Vancouver. Contemplated going for a walk but nixed it, knowing that I would be frustrated with crowds and city, the bland expanses of whatever small green patches I could find. Mud on my shoes and nothing to show for the effort.

And so I set my alarm and got ready for bed. Couldn't stop eating. Compulsive. Tomorrow I'll buy gum, damn oral fixation. How does one break that anyways? And still it is set, I'm getting up at 8:00, have to break this cycle, and no self-motivation to do it. Tomorrow I'll have the day I've been spending a week trying to find. Hell, three weeks. Tomorrow I will step out, because I know the only way out of this is to force it. I have things this week to look forward to, and they'll be all that much better if I can leave guilt behind.

Bad day? Bad week... hell, its just been bad

People ask how I'm doing, and I cater my reply to how well I know them. Nobody likes a downer. Not even me, hell, especially not me. So here I am, got woken up by some random man trying to check my fire alarm, which then went off, and I died a little inside and dragged myself out of bed. Down to the library when I realized that I'd forgotten my highlighter. Call me anal, but there's no point in doing all this reading if I can't highlight the important stuff, so I won't worry, do it later, fine. Go online to do some searching, find some articles, none at this library of course. Figure I'll cross reference some stuff through the Web of Science, but for the first time in my five-year academic journey (yes, I said journey, bear with me here) it seems to be out of service. That's right, today of all days, when I'm generally emotionally unwell and can't do anything else worthwhile, yet refuse to leave the library when I just got here and am downloading episodes of Friends for future use, the server is down. Its just one of those days.

Has it really been a week?

Wow. Time flies when you're sitting around staring at the walls... or something.

Updates: I have a supervisor, which means I have work. Good. I also have a paper that isn't getting written. For the first time in my life (I think) I have nothing to take my mind of things except a fantasy of an unavailable man. I'm torn between exercise and chocolate, usually settling for the latter. I have a dinner and Night tomorrow planned, and endless work for the weekend ahead. In fact, I was almost going to continue slaving over papers but decided to post instead. I have become a bad blogger, but life has become boring. Apart from the retroactive rejection: but as DPG pointed out,
1. I was the one who told him to sort his shit out
2. I managed to score a few points, including my 'I'm not a usual choice for you and as such you have no idea what to do with me do you' speech (which was utterly correct)
3. It was over far before we had this conversation

I DO however have a 'What the hell is it with this place' rant though. Buses and Bus Drivers. My God. Where I come from, bus drivers are helpful. For the most part. As in any profession you get your share of assholes, but generally they are happy to help you find where you are going. Here, here they have no idea what is going on, and are more likely to roll their eyes at you for wasting their time or simply say "I don't know" and stare at you until you make a decision... and since getting on a bus here, stupidly, requires intimate knowledge of where you are going and yet somehow, this knowledge is nearly impossible to obtain without having had prior travel experience in the exact region of your destination... well its a pickle, to say the least. I'm not kidding. Online timetables are impossible, most bus stops lack even simple route maps with stop names, and god forbid that you should try to work out the fare system. And the drivers, despite being connected to this ridiculous waste of time they call a transit system in this city, have absolutely no willingness to help you, in fact, they are more likely to shut the door in your face and wave as they drive off, leaving you standing in the rain (no joke, this has happened to me). So to end this rant, work it out Oxford, for God's sake, how hard is it to create a working transit system that makes sense? Apparently its really really hard.

I should know better

In the past twenty four hours I have been told by two outsiders how ridiculous I am being, that I should know better, that I deserve more than this. And all I can think of is how right they are, and how weak I am. That if he turned around and smiled I would go to him. That every song right now is trailing his name between chords.

Cheers darlin'
Here's to you and your lover

Cheers darlin'
I got years to wait around for you
Cheers darlin'
I've got your wedding bells in my ear
Cheers darlin'
You gave me three cigarettes to smoke my tears away

And I die when you mention her name
And I lied, I should have kissed you
When we were runnin' in the rain

What am I darlin'?
A whisper in your ear?
A piece of your cake?
What am I, darlin?
The girl you can fear?
Or your biggest mistake?

Cheers darlin'
Here's to you and your lover
Cheers darlin'
I just hang around and eat from a can
Cheers darlin'
I got a ribbon of green on my guitar
Cheers darlin'
I got a beauty queen
To sit not very far from me

I die when she comes around
To take you home
I'm too shy
I should have kissed you when we were alone

What am I darlin'?
A whisper in your ear?
A piece of your cake?
What am I, darlin?
The girl you can fear?
Or your biggest mistake?

Oh what am I? What am I darlin'?
I got years to wait...

-- The way I am hearing Damien Rice, Cheers Darling

One Week

8th Week. Too few classes, too many nights out, too little reading, too much crazy.

First, of course of course, varsity. Yesssss. And it was a bit of a slaughter, a week later I am still wondering how long this wave will carry me. One goal, one (official) assist, one penalty, one man of the match award. One drunken celebration, one misplaced trophy that came back a little sticky. We concluded that Varsity sweat tastes sweeter. Indeed, there's nothing like a good decisive victory. Really amazing how quickly the rivalry became my own, how nervous I could be about something that until six months ago didn't exist. I can't leave this place just yet.

Rode my hangover through Monday and into Tuesday, my body discovering new injuries every day. I tried to do work but failed, slipping into sleepy mornings and lazy afternoons. Wednesday happened to be madness, but by Thursday it had all blown over. Things here happen too quickly for coherent speculation.

I believe two weeks ago I speculated about a certain man who would be back sooner rather than later. His messages came through and we met for drinks and the usual asides: flirting, innuendo, our legs touching beneath tables. He told me twice that she wasn't his girlfriend, wasn't his anything, and he didn't think he wanted that to change. I finally cut the bullshit, after one and a half pints, telling him that all this time he has sabotaged things (without, of course, using the word sabotage) and that I was finally going to make it real simple for him. His response was honest, and confusion, and as we stood in my room, the familiar extended hugs, I felt so sure that I had made the right call, that chipmunk-face was out of the picture and that I had played things perfectly.

Friday night he showed up with her. Sober, his body turned away from her, and according to my sources a sheepish look on his face when I left the party early, unwilling to make any more of an ass of myself. Reports are that I behaved. I worry about his friends getting back to him about my less-than-sugar-coated tongue.

Saturday we saw Death Cab for Cutie (amazing) and sauntered down to an end-of-term party: the whole minefield of the men's team was there, and he found me at the door, cowboy hat in full effect, holding my waist and inspecting me. That was the extent, even though I followed him into the kitchen at one point, overstepping myself, and sadly talked to that beautiful French woman as I glanced beyond her to where they were kissing on the couch. Exhale. He is drunk. You only told him all of that on Thursday, and if the situation was reversed you know that you would be doing exactly the same as him: keeping the flavor of the week going until you were sure, so don't you dare vilify him for this. But oh it hurts, and seeing them is worse than I had expected, as if admitting to him on Thursday how I really felt was like admitting to myself that I did genuinely adore him. Change a man indeed.

So yesterday he left the country for a week, which gives everyone a break, especially me. Time to think, time to get some space from it all, time to miss me. And I have time to decide on my next move.

Nervous

Two and a half hours to gametime, and man am I nervous. Its a fantastic feeling, but I wish it was all over. We have lost games we were meant to win before. We play down, we play sloppy, we make mistakes. Hoping all goes well. Regardless, there's a beer at the end of it.

One day to go

Tomorrow is our Varsity Match, quite the big deal around these parts. Nothing else in our season really matters except winning, which means that I'm nervous in the best way. I'm still very worried that I'll lose my voice though.

Yesterday was a Great Day, despite the fact that Giant Douche hasn't emailed me back. Still hasn't... douche. Anyways. Any worries about my being here have definately been assuaged, more than assuaged. Hell, I might even be able to come back at this rate. When such an accomplished academic describes your paper as 'a pleasure to read', you must be doing something right! I walked around all afternoon with a smile, definately the highlight of my academic life so far. Hear that Oxford? I belong here. Heavy.

To top if off, Jeffrey and I booked tickets to Spain for ten days in April, and I might have a travel buddy to accompany me to Brussels and Amsterdam in a few weeks. This break is definately looking better than my last one. All I have to do is flesh out my essay topic into an argument and get it finished by 10th week, no problem. Especially now that my concerns, which prevented me from started my previous papers and dogged me throughout the process, have disappeared.

Now, to turn up my pre-varsity playlist and start getting my game-face on... tomorrow afternoon, those Tabs won't know what hit 'em.

Near the bottom

Today I think I'm near the bottom. Hopefully as close as I'm going to get. Worried about losing my voice, angry for no reason, tired but aching to move. Wishing that there were a reason to leave the house, knowing that no reason is good enough to make me, checking email and wasting time, eating, thinking about eating more.

Telling myself that next week will be different. That after eighth week I will step up. I know I have to step up.

I can't write this anymore.