Musings and Tidbits

self-aware drunk

Perhaps this is the last time I'll ever be this happy, I think as I feel the melodic, mechanical bass beat through my chest, instead of my heart.

It's hazy, electrifying, and disorienting how much I want to dissolve into the music, sink into the feeling of being one with the club-goers around me, so that I never resurface to who I usually am. So I never feel again.

I suppose this drink helps. It's intoxicatingly sweet, and it burns down my throat as I attempt to blend in. Maybe this is what those philosophers mean when they say that we yearn to be one. Bataille, was it?

I'm running from myself, I know. I can see all the avenues of action in front of me. I can leave, find someone who understands. Pick myself up and piece this mess of a human together, snapping into place like a demented jigsaw puzzle. I can leave with the next person who waltzes up to me and makes me believe, only for a night, that I am special. I can run a marathon with all this zest from my brain, and yet I'm paralyzed at the crossroads.

I know what I should do.

Do I have the strength, though? Maybe I can defeat this cycle -- one I'm painfully aware of -- of drunk, not drunk, drunk, stone cold sober. Running in circles is easier. But who knows unless I try?

Screw that, I've tried. I don't know what I'm doing. I only know that I chase the gratification. I swear I'm a good person.

Right?

I've tried, and yet, I just know that this life is out to get me. I've tried joining the pieces of myself together, but they don't fit. I've tried to find meaning in the company of strangers, but now I think we both end up using each other.

And so I sit here, nursing my nostalgia instead, swaying to the pulse of the electronic music.