I used to be drunk on life; couldn’t get enough. I was all over it, clinging desperately to that threadbare, oft-trod rope ladder of enticement, with all the world’s treasures at its summit. When the moment took me I bought stuff; things I believed would enrich my experiences. As it turned out, they didn’t. They were just things and I was just a spendthrifty twat.
But it wasn’t just ‘things’ that excited me, I collected a plethora of meaningless friendships and acquaintances too, a rich network of like-minded revellers and libertines; fellow passengers on the euphoria-bus to Fuckwit Station. Sure, we were having a blast but blasts are exactly that…short lived moments of expended energy.
Anyway, we drank and played music and generally made merry like we were in the fucking Beatles, and at the end of each evening, instead of wrapping it up we’d just carry on into the next day. Occasionally we slept, but to be honest, that was relatively rare; sleep being the playground of the virtuous. We were renegades, pitting our wits against the conventions of biological diktat. And we were knackered.
But we didn’t fucking care…we were having it large, going off like rockets at a village firework display. Our lights shone bright (albeit fleetingly), following our meteoric social ascendancy, before slowly falling back to earth; burning embers scattered across throngs of honest souls. The big come down.
And now here we are, nursing the hangover of those heady experiences. Nurturing the headaches of our previous lives; bitter payment for the glory of fearlessness and ambivalence. Here we are in the real world, in the here and now, trudging through the thick snow of conventional existence. We are cold, tired and hungry and…we are sober.
