Every muscle in my body is tired. Every single bead of sweat is being felt. My eyes ache. My ears ring. My skin itches to rest. My head is still pounding. The alcohol I have drunk has yet to string me up, but I know it plans on it. The bus ride was a torturous one, all menace and no pay-off. I am experiencing the thirst usually reserved for the walk home after a night out - drinking so much yet never feeling quenched. I have a bit mark on my wrist that itches like a hooker's ladysatchel after a night on the beach and her customer was the Sandman.
Yet I cannot sleep. Shitting Christmas trees I want to sleep, but my mind will not let me. I think I overthought on the bus. I think that I have maybe overthought that. You see? I'd like to tell you what sparked it off, but I couldn't tell you without doubting it. It could anything from the fact I am tired, so tired from the day itself. The fact that I can say that I have seen one of my favouritestestest bands ever play some of my favourite songs, and now I wonder if I could say a similar thing again. Perhaps it was the fact that the bus driver was reading a fucking book while driving (I really wish I was kidding) and I pondered if I would make it off the bus through the normal exits and not through someone else's skull on the way to the windshield.
But I do know that there was a distinct smell from my hoodie, a tiny trace of a memory nestled in the combination of sweat, fabric softener, and that smell that clothes have when you haven't worn them in a while, taking on the odour of the clothes they sat next to, hung with, or just looked at. And that smell reminded me of being back at school.
Year 7 or 8 languages in those crappy wooden huts. The smell of my uniform, the freshness and newness. The innocence I guess. What happened to that kid? I know he's dead, that child hasn't been seen for a long time, but I do know there's a man in his place who looks an awful like him. Completely different attitude though. Much better hair, too.
So yeah, that's what the hell I've been over-analysing.
I doubt I'll go into Con Law this afternoon. I really, sincerely, most honestly, need to chill. Today was meant to be that day, but Democrats and Billy Corgan happened.
I need to detox, I think. No drinking for a while. I won't go out on Friday, won't go out on Saturday either. If I do go to this cook-out doo-dah I will think long and hard about what the journey there and back will take out of me. It is hard work riding the bus. Every single drop of energy can leave your body if you're not careful.
I will think long and hard, too, about what I want to do after this. 'Cos now I don't know anymore. I knew this wasn't going to be an easy career path and nor should it be. But at times like this, when I have no motivation to think in any manner that isn't completely self-centred and whiny, when I just don't want to get out of bed or see a time that I might want to, I just have to think if I can be bothered.
Ugh, go to bed.
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