Waking up?

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So it's coming to an end, the week that just flew past. I'm losing track of time and days. I believe today is Sunday, and tomorrow is Labour day.

Today concludes one whole week of being fucked up. It all started last weekend after the girl ended things with me, it's all like it should be though, when you live a life of constant moving and change that is the only constant, and you accept and embrace that fact. You know people will come and people will go.

In this case, an awesome girl I met here a few months ago. The romance; an inevitability for me, it seems.

As I read the final message that concluded the deal I lit up the spliff I'd been preparing since before we started the talk. The following days of this week were all spent being fucked up constantly, either stoned or drunk, or both, all day - every day.

Of course, the results can be felt. I'm exhausted. I woke up this morning with the heaviest hangover I may have ever had. Not in the sense that all I wanted to do was vomit out the evil influence of alcohol on my poor body, but more in the sense of only functioning on a slow level. I had to pass up my ticket to go to Future Music Festival in Melbourne. The day has been spent hearing the sounds coming from the festival, in agony and pain, as I live within walking distance from the Showgrounds.

It all confirmed my initial decision to pass up the ticket though, all that would have been extremely awesome, but the week had taken it's toll and there would have been little pleasure in me going there to be too tired to enjoy myself. Instead I stayed home, saving money by finishing up my bourbon and smoking cannabis, all day long.

My conclusion after spending one week in this state is that it is not sustainable for me. I am going to detox myself tomorrow.

I've been giving my lose change to homeless people lately. Even my tips sometimes. It just feels right to do, I don't know why. Maybe my constant level of boozin' made it seem like a good idea at the time, and it still does.

I don't need to look for trouble, trouble finds me.

As I was hanging out with my mate in the back smoking area in some bar in Chapel a crazy woman comes up asking for tobacco so she can roll a joint. She claimed she was looking for trouble. By all means, as long as you let me in the circle. Done. We chat for a bit, the place closes, I want to go home, she wants more party. Unbelievable, I was outlasted by a fourty year old woman. Well, she was one fit lady, that's for sure.

She went to Revolver, probably looking for a fucked up time on a whole different level to what I was seeking. I went home after dropping off fifteen bucks to a homeless man giving me travel tips to go see the outback, staggered into my room and passed out.

Last night I had to fend off a thirty year old, extremely intoxicated, Californian throwing herself at me. She finally left after saying I was a keeper and kissed me on the cheek. This allowed me to get back to my drinking and plotting with my gay friend to hook me up with his, apparently very hot, housemate. She allegedly looks like Cleopatra. My curiosity is peaked, I need to explore this girl.

But for now, I need to sign off and get back to being fucked up for one more night, albeit on a much more laid back note.



Whiskeybaby, Melbourne

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