i sometimes wish i was writing to someone. pour quelq'un. that the songs we listen to will cause us to stop and weep.

i don't get drunk often because i don't drink. when i do, i inevitable do become all out of kelter. i don't say rubbish. i think i think and feel rubbish, and it's an orange haze and just feeling out of sorts.

so you see, i went to law bash on saturday. saturday nights are event nights, or something, because nowadays everyone's only really free on weekends. it isn't really chilling out. going to a night, i realise, can be a really well choreographed routine.

i must confess i was bored. smoke in the room. in the middle of the dancefloor, and suddenly you can think about what would happen if the room blew up, or exploded into flame, like maybe some Israeli youths in a club in Tel Aviv. The bouncer would die. I would die. The happy people would die. The guy at the side laughing at the others would die. My friends would die, my strangers would die, the bar people will die, the DJ will die, the flirty one dies, the shy one dies.

3 am. Cab back, no supper. No time to write. Just sleep.

And the long languid Sunday. of which half disappeared because i chose to sleep till noon. and the prospect of the routine of another week. going to work, going for French, writing this blog.

And my contact with people feels diminished. How so? I am still going with my friends. I go with my colleagues at work. And there are these words. There is fishing and the sea, the big big sea. I have the stories and the well-meaning advice people tell me.

And not to think about it. To think that everyone is suffering equally.

Pause. Repeat. Think. Think of only the mistakes you have made. Regret and nostalgia in equal amounts. Convincing yourself that work, and getting things done is the way to redeem yourself, because you'd hate to be nothing more than a lazy self-indulgent slob who just happens to be smart, and so being humble and working hard can redeem all that.

And that happiness can be bought with sacrifice. Which will buy you an angel or two, at today's rates, enough to answer your prayers. i have my angel and my patron saint. you see, i would desire it all too. just not as much as you do. but the heart wants, it doesn't need, but it wants, wants, wants. desire. wants touch or joy or peace or love or whatever. quelquechose. quelq'un. and i sleep because i am tired, or i should, now.