I came home today to find that my house looked like Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas. There was shit everywhere, wine glasses, hooka pipes, ash all over the floor and everything smelled skunky. Megan was nowhere to be found to throw the grapefruit in the bathtub when White Rabbit peaked.
It wasn't even a ruckus night. It was low-key. I'm reminded that it's summer and this is how we do in summer time. So, why am I so spooked about the whole thing? Why am I getting all neurotic and needy? I'm over the post-vacay "where is this all going? why are we all here? the grass is always greener" routine and now it is time to embrace full-heartedly the gong that awaits. No more neurosis. No thinking about Spain until July. No waxing poetic about days of old, of loves lost or absent members of flavours of weeks gone by.
It's time to get obliterated, as Towers would say, on whatever we can get our hands on. Time to drink in the sunshine, play in the grass, paint all the pictures I keep in my head and move on from the past year's hang-ups. This sounds like New Year's Resolutions to me. Perhaps the calendar year really starts with the June Monsoon...
No point in mentioning these bats, I thought. Poor bastard will see them soon enough.
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