Alcohol

Day 8

The gig was very good and me and Fenella got to an extreme level of drunk. Drunken, leery guys kept coming on to me and I felt exactly how I felt after the Nothing. They bought us drinks which we appreciated greatly and downed like water. The drunker I got the more my head concentrated on one particular image - him. So, in useless attempts to block him out, I gulped and gulped and danced like a maniac and shouted over the band and took all my 5 million cardigans off because it was too hot and took blurry pictures of everything that moved. A lot of people I knew were stuffed in the pub with us, familiar faces that I liked or disliked or had mixed emotions about. It all seems so trivial.
We got home around two, drunk, tired and (in my case) close to letting my happy and excitable visage fall apart. Today I am hungover, bitter and, for lack of a more precise description - feeling like shit. I texted him last night in my drunken state, trying to seem mature and composed although I was leaning on a brick wall outside the pub, sweating and pushing tears to the back of my throat. He didn't reply, of course he was asleep. But in my intoxicated state of paranoia, hurt and obsession I convinced myself he was still with her, out somewhere and didn't feel a need to speak to me. Following this I texted him again an hour later, speaking a little sharply, my cold sarcasm shining through the disorientated drunkenness. He replied. He said he was sleeping. I should have more curtosy. Of course.
He ased me if I'd fucked anyone at the gig. Fucked. Does he think I am capable of holding someone's clammy hand yet? I can't touch guys, I feel sick. And sex? What is it. Why do so many become so obsessed with it? Thinking about it as an act, it actually seems like a revolting thing to do. Its no longer loving and gentle expression of tenderness, its a gritty, lowering black box of escape from anything and everything real.
Fenella got called into work today so my aim of constantly staying around people didn't quite work out. I stayed in, eating a fry up, watching The Princess Anastasia and feeling disgusted how she falls in love with a cocky, narrowminded conman who only cares about money and then ditches her Royal grandma to swan off on a boat with him, and trying to think about anything and everything but him. It didn't work. Half way through the film it all hit me in one go.
Its happening. She is replacing me in every way. They're cooking dinner for his family tonight. Reid will eat anything thats put in front of him. Sue will act sugary sweet and simpering whether the food tastes like French culinary or a lump of shit. And Dave will joke around lightheartedly and laugh at his own brilliant jokes. I'm not in the picture and I'm finding that impossible to accept. They don't need you. None of them. None of you.
I'm dying my hair tonight. And I might get a tattoo.
Different different. Someone different. Not me. Sick to the head of me.
Bon appetit, I hope they enjoy it.

Still, J'adore tu.