Life

Well, you know with a serious title like that it has too be bad. And it is. Oh yeah.

Good News first:
On Friday was my friends 21st Birthday celebrations. Unfortunately, I cannot remember her psudenom right now, but anyway, it was a fine and reserved affair that was very much appreciated after the week long reaming that work had been. Yes, I was ready to get very very drunk, but decided to limit myself to one bottle of wine. Yes I know, not like me, but I have been drinking alot lately and didn't feel like making myself a fool again just yet.
I am glad I didn't. For at this shindig I met a lovely person I shall call Clarisse Von Pink. With a sense of humor which almost blends seemingly with mine, chatting away the night was the highlight of the weekend. We have a date on Wednesday to drink coffee.

But hang on just one minute! Thy say: What about this Vivi that you have been writing so much on the topic of Flan? Is this not a kind of hedging your bets a bit? A playing of both sides of the fence as they say?
Well yes, and I was worried about that also. What happened if, as I was going to Vivi's flat warming on the saturday night, we somehow got together and the date with Clarisse had to be cancelled or, worse, acted through so as not to hurt the emotions? I really dont know how I would have coped with such a situation.

As you may have gathered I no longer have to worry about that. For now Highlyflannable Theatre brings you the Really Horribly Bad News:
On Saturday it was my friends, and Vivi's, flat warming. They live up on the back of the beyond, a suburb on top of a mountain they call Roseneath. I decided to take only one bottle of wine. Yes, I know, not like me, but I had been out the previous night and didn't feel like making the usual fool of myself that I do.
I wish I had taken eighteen bottles of wine.
On saturday night I crashed. I had an emotional breakdown the likes of which has not been seen since I was 18 when I suddenly had to leave school halfway through the day and go climb a mountain. I sat outside the Roseneath flat for a good part of the night and was bothered about things that shouldn't bother me and then about things that should have bothered me. Because of this moment I am washing my hands of Vivi. What is it about me that makes women want to mess with my mind? I do wonder sometimes about how much a labotomy might cost. I know I was being hypocritial in some of the things I was thinking on that night, and indeed still am, but my mind is so bundled up, so tangled up, I am surprised that I am still able to function, even if it is a very curtailed function.
I ended up walking home from Roseneath at 3am, along the waterfront, shouting at God. He didn't reply.

So now begins the difficult and painful process of re-evaluating my life though this latest event and trying to align myself with it in some way so I am not constantly slicing myself on its fractured edges. In time to come, I shall aborb this new peice of glass into my bloodstream, as I have done with all the other painful events of my life, and my life shall be just that small amount colder.

I am really hoping that my date goes well on wednesday. I hope for the best but know that the worst will probably happen. Sigh.

Its damn difficult being me sometimes.