There are only so many reactions a human being can have to a certain substance. For example, when someone’s skin encounters fire, there are just a few ways of reacting creatively:
– Jump around screaming in pain
– Die instantly
– Sadistically enjoy the mutilation of your skin
You can see here how “writing an eloquent poem about rabbits” just is not a feasible option.
Let us move on to another substance, alcohol. Here the possibilities are reduced dramatically, so that a human can only really do two things:
– BE STUPID
– and occasionally, forget everything he/she did.
Now that we know these important facts.
It would follow
That we would avoid fire and drunk people at all costs.
Somewhere, somehow, my brain has forgotten this.
Last night, at a gig that was going relatively well, at an hour that was relatively not one for moments of meaningful intimacy, my brain actually gave the benefit of doubt to a drunk tit.
It thought OH NO NO NO. That is not a drunken returd face. That is the face of someone intelligent, emotive, empathetic and caring. That is definitely not the face of a poes crunk liar who’s going to forget all about our 5 seconds of sweetness tomorrow morning.
And by sweetness, Ye Olde Hag merely means cuddles. Yes. Cuddles alone have sent me into a spastic meep-faced state of agony.
Well fuck me sideways and call me Bartholomew, I am an idiot.
Firstly, because I have the emotional capacity of a PMS’ing whale on drugs. This results in mere eye-contact feeling like some intense hanky panky session.
Secondly, because despite all the properly sexy rendez-vous I have had, I am still a stupid piece of marshmallow pap, and cannot even pretend that I am made of iron. My gangster pose won’t hold and my facial expression is all too reminiscent of the Myspace Emo days.
Thirdly, because somewhere in my genius of a brain, I decided that being all cute and vulnerable with my FRIEND whom I occasionally call my BROTHER was a very intelligent idea, especially when he was off his face DRUNK. Can I reiterate the word BROTHER?! Caps lock, people, caps lock.
And now I need to de-awkwardise the situation, because GENIUS over here decided that making a fuss about this whole tiny issue was also a smart thing to do in the aftermath. So sobered-up kid now probably thinks
(a) I have really lost my mind
(b) he sexed me
(c) all of the above.
The truth is actually (d) I am a fool and must stop having so much faith in drunken tits.
As my friend C and I decided last night, what I actually need in my life, is a baby.
Once I have some tiny, needy little person to lavish with my abundant affection and helpfulness, order will be restored in the universe.
Until then, I will probably keep writing poems about rabbits while my face catches fire.