Hangover Jim

Yeah so I drink too much. I was not at all (neither do I ever knowingly) intending to drink that much. That much was excessive – and I blame it on the date concept, which gives me nerves. I should not have an overdraft on my card. I drink to loosen up you know. And in the same vain as any other drug, you take it to not feel yourself that much. To shut your own head up. Because my head does get in the way a lot, bloody often it clogs up my time with minor stresses and boring boring pointless points. I filled the bathtub up to the brim the other day with cold water by accident instead of hot, and I worried so much about the wasteage of water that I couldn’t pull the plug out of that bathtub for THREE WHOLE DAYS. That was how much my brain worried about the consequences of a minor action and even when I compare it to murder or bombings, my brain still convinces me it’s a big deal. And I like a drink but that’s beside the point. Why can’t I get to the point? OK. I don’t love you and I don’t think that I could ever love you. That’s my confession. But you know why I don’t think I could ever love you? Because my stupid voice in my head can come up with millions of reasons to persuade me not to, but when I’m actually in the reality of the situation, as in with you – I definitely could love you. So why does my “inside head voice” and my “outside world life” not match? That’s my question and I wondered if you could help me figure it out. It’s a work-in-progress show this, or a work-in-process because I’m trying to work something out which won’t become a show.

Here are some of my inside head reasons:

- I don’t like your coat. The collar annoys me. They’re flaps. So, when it’s done up you look like a Kremlin guard but when it’s not, it's just flapping and gapes. It shows too much of what you’re wearing underneath when it’s open and reminds me of 16^th century ruffs that men used to wear which are pretty much ridiculous, like those cones dogs wear round their heads when they get sick. And the large opening isn’t practical; coats are meant to keep the heat in, and then if and when you do do it up you’re not audible because the flaps cover your mouth, so what’s the point?

- You’re positivity about the world. About getting things done and the good advice about making To Do lists. I hate that you’re well put together and clean because I wish I was – this is plain menace coming from jealousy and a feeling of inadequacy.

- You’re a “clean shirt”. And that’s a term I’ve taken from you when you’ve used the unapologetically crass phrase ‘a person’s brand’. When you ask me ‘What’s their brand?’ I also bristle with anger, but that in and of itself doesn’t deserve to get a full bullet-point. You’re above hobos and bohemians and below suits. You wear smart casual and order flat whites, and don’t seem to find the ambient house beats being played inside the café like Christmas jingles at supermarkets through the month of December off-putting. You're plain chipper doing what you do with no sense of irony, anxiety or delusion. How do you manage that? Are you really happy or ignorant? What is going on?

- The use and idea of the term lad. I hate lad culture. I wrote to you in an e-mail I’d be waiting for you at the date space probably with a book and a beer, and then you wrote in the reply: ‘book and a beer, educated lad’. You summed it up, that’s what I hate. Lad culture is based around being able to drink lots and not keeping it down, and you all have this ingrained radar for BANTER but what banter really means is an affectionate term for lame in-jokes about that thing that happened to Dave when you all went on that trip where everyone was wasted 24/7. Wow I cannot take those people seriously and I know you have that lad-dness in you. You saying LOL in a conversation and a referring to a person’s brand, it’s all there. And I don’t reproach you for it I am merely stating I could never love a lad.

What can be said, what can’t be said. When I first meet a person I think of all the things that can’t be said out loud first, for example if you meet a fat person you check in with yourself immediately to note I cannot talk about this person being fat. In fact all of my opinions seem to stem from this can't be said field and therefore I am a nasty person. They fall out of my mouth when I am least suspecting it and when I don’t want them to because what can be said and what can’t be said are reconciled together with the lubricant of drink; or heightened situations; or most noble out of the lot, when you’re trying to do the right thing. In my books I have long held the belief that doing the right thing is being honest, then you can be free. But the price of that freedom? Losing the patience of more kind sensitive souls, sounding like a dickhead the majority of the time someone asks you your opinion, being kicked in the teeth by someone who takes offence, and a lack of regard for repercussions. No regrets.