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Monday August 31, 09
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03:44 PM - Tales from a mobile phone
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Lanzarote, July 2008
We need to talk to girls. But how? And when? I mean, there are plenty of girls in this club. None of them speaking to men. Yet I feel like if I went up to any of them I'd get lynched. Not the best position to be in. How will it change?
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These girls look at us across the bar while Alice Deejay's "Better Off Alone" plays. I can't agree with the sentiment. I don't know any other way than alone.
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I'm beginning to come round to Rent's way of thinking. Maybe some junk would get me out of this funk. No think about girls, no worries. Choose life. Choose a fuckin anonymous living. Welcome to my world.
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I look at this girl on the dance floor. She's good looking, but probably not in the top dozen of this holiday. I'm probably not in her top thousand of tonight. But she's my favourite for tonight. My penguin. It's destined not to be.
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Some birds are fuckin delusional. Like the ones that go on the sodium (sic). Sure, she's nice enough, but only stunners should be up there, those that are unattainable. While she's unattainable to me, she's no Hazel Irvine.
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Fuck, the Irish girls are here. I found them stunning on the bus, they still look fit here. But what to say? Will they think me and Dr Finlay are stalkers? There's a mass of guys between us. No guts no glory eh?
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Man, what a fucking game. I'm sure they've clocked us, but waiting on us making a move. Cunts. In fact they're right next to us now. What to do?
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Now the crowd of fuckin lackeys is between us. They moved away. It's either a game of chase or they're no interested. Either way, I'm no interested. I would've bought them a drunk as well, crazy prices or no. That's the type of cunt I am. Generous but shy. It'll never work. I'm fucking useless.
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The Irish birds disappeared. Like completely, just as Radiohead sang. There's a few birds still about but none attainable, especially with the amount I've drunk. Back to normality soon.
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What a fuckin doss cunt Dr Finlay is. First he ruins any chance with the Irish birds on the bus, next I'm on to a possible with some bird and he dingies my request to fuck off. Destined no to be. What's the point?
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Why blame Dr Finlay? The real blame should be laid at me. Ultimately I had the chance to make the move. He's a simple fellow, simple as that. I knew that when I came. I'm not good enough anyway. The bi-polar bear.
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BE MY PENGUIN
Another bloody morning
Waking up all alone
Maybe today will be different
I really should've known
God, will this ever end?
Is there a special friend?
It's nearly a quarter to ten
Please answer my prayers, amen.
I sidle up to the bar
And think of everyone I know
Even with a fancy car
They'd tell me where to go
Thinking of what to say
Comes easy for all the sheep
It's always something simple
Never anything too deep
So, if I had the chance
Here's what I'd say
Would you be my penguin?
It'd really make my day
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Glasgow, August 2009 (day after the wedding)
So here's the story. I'm basically the second leg of a stool, the spout of a chocolate teapot, the mosquito in a window. In other words, ultimately useless or simply undesirable. I'm lost in a myriad of pish. I hate life. Bring on death, it can't be much worse than life. And that's from me, not anyone else. Ah well, always my second life to start. Whether a metaphorical second life or a symbolic one. The flight (of either) can't happen soon enough.
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All of the above represents a somewhat darker side to my personality. Instead of living life at the time, I muse on it and find solace in jotting thoughts down in a phone (granted, it's over a year apart, but I'm certain there have been times in between that period where I've been sorely tempted).
Alcohol sees a bit of a change in me. Most of the time it's a decent chance - a bit more relaxed, a bit more happy. There seems to come a point, however, that I occasionally hit that almost brings out this depressed side, rearing its ugly head and taking over. It's managed the majority of the time by ignoring some of the deeper issues in my life.
Luckily, I think I've started to at least try to exorcise some of those demons. I managed to even ask someone out the other week (of course, it was met with a swift rejection, but progress is progress), and came out the other side intact. Maybe there's hope yet, even before the commencement of the second life.
(PS - Apologies for some of the dreadful language above - drink brings that out also).
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