Normally, I post about a specific subject, often influenced by what London life has inflicted on my weak and addictive personality.
And as usual, this Friday, just after work, and with a shiny new laptop in my bag, I wandered around the bars. First of course, it was only going to be for one drink with one of my lesbian friends and her future ex shag / girlfriend. Although after that night and the mouth eating I've witnessed (I even considered a trip to the Vicar to confess, but I was afraid of him wanting to know more), they probably finished the night together.
Then of course, a moment of clarity and I remember I don't have any way to get home until one of my flatmate gets there, and I am stuck in central till eleven. Thanks god for dress down Friday, I wasn't in my suit and tie for once.
7 o'clock, and the adorable The Edge, followed by Element, followed by... Was it Ku bar? I can't really remember. All I know is that when I left, it was raining, and my so called boyfriend was trying with me to get a cab. Or rather he was and I was walking on the middle of the road trying to stop any car. Oh and bumping people off the sidewalk (it seems two tried to kick the shit out of me, but I have no bruise so no proof). Finally a car was found, a dodgy driver that seems convinced I owe him money. Its not really my fault if no cash machine accepted my card, and if the boyfriend's only got 20£ out of the machine. Plus he's not legal so he can more or less fuck off.
In the process, I dropped my bag on the floor while shouting at god (casing intended), and my new shiny MacBook Pro that cost more than £2000 ended up with a big bump on the case near the DVD player. I'll have to call the shop and see if they can order a replacement for the case.
Ah there we are. Bit of writing about everything and it all comes to mind. So much to tell you, so many weird things have been happening over the last few weeks. But back to my story.
So managed to get home with my boyfriend. Yes it seems I have a boyfriend. A few things strike me as being uttermostly weird.
First the age difference, I've become so fast this young professional with a big budget and a starving need for independence, comfort, and requirement for an easy to deal with boyfriend I can see whenever my calendar allows... Years are really gone, I'm really not the 20yo twink I was and I'm starting to grieve. I feel more and more depressed by the prospect, and at the same time I have a strong feeling of liberation, as if this newly found maturity was my new dope. Depresses me to realize I'm high, but I'm high so it's not that bad.
Second, I realize I'm very much the kind of guy I thought was inappropriately manipulating youngsters when I was 18. Not that I manipulate them, far from it, I have an admiration and a certain amount of jealousy towards these young, slim and smooth bodies, fresh uncluttered minds, lacking the cynism and the sadness that comes with maturity. Maybe the chasing is very much a form of chasing of my own past, my regrets, an irrepressible need to not become old, outdated, to not die. Maybe it's just my childish desire to pretend my past didn't happen. After all if I am surrounded by 18yo people, surely I can't have lived through this destructive relationship, self-destructive drug addiction, etc etc.
Then, I realize I have less and less confidence over the years. Going out in a club with him (the boyfriend, try and follow!) the other week was eye opening. All the cuties I fancied for a while and that were completely ignoring me before were all over him. Youth. It came as a big shock, a realization that as fit and as slim and as well dressed as I try to be, I'm not one of them anymore. The absence of any porn career lately has been a strong hint, but it's getting more and more obvious.
And that gets us to jealousy. Oh my dear god almighty (see, after insults, always says something nice before going to bed), am I jealous. And not because I fear loosing him. To be honest, even though he's an adorable guy, and probably smart, we don't talk much and spend most of our time having sex, which is quite fine by me. I never complain about having too much sex. Except maybe in the morning because some people's breath is vile, and because I like to cuddle the duvet in the morning, not to try and suck a dick when I feel like I have a dead hamster in my mouth. No, if I lost him I'd loose a very good and very docile shag that on top of it comes to mine when I want it and sees me more or less when I decide. And I'd loose a perfect boy magnet when I go clubbing. No, I feel jealousy and inadequacy. And I know way too well where that leads me.
See, a few years back, I got in an LTR that lasted three years. I feel that calling a Long Term Relationship an LTR removes any humanity from it. And it's just like what my experience of it was. And I felt inadequate, not because I was, but simply because the over the top in-your-face Gucci wearing anorexic idiot that served me as a boyfriend was so comfortable in his delusional neurotic slutty personality, and I've never really been comfortable in public... And my reaction since then has been to forge myself a public personality you'll meet when clubbing, the socialite. Everybody and their brothers know me in the clubs and bars I go to, and the ones I used to go. The only rather anonymous places I still manage to not be recognized are Fire and Orange, mainly because am off the drugs and don't intend to go back to them. Except for cocaine when there's a special occasion, but even that is slowly fading away.
So uh, yeah, jealousy. Am very very very jealous. It's a pulsion, an automatic reaction I can't control. Boyfriend sits on a stranger's laps instead of mine when in front of me, I get upset. He disappears on the dance floor (with my permission) for half an hour and I assume he's getting a blowjob in the toilets. All this because I want to be the center of attention and constantly needs to be told how fantastic I am. Also because all the men I've been with all cheated on me. And also because none of them even considered inviting me.
Ah well. I'm trying to deal with the megalomania and the jealousy by breathing slowly and reacting logically. If he wanted to sleep with someone else he would either tell me upfront or hide it well, the in between makes no logical sense.
So the whole boyfriend situation is a bit weird. I don't think he's got the slightest idea what goes on in my mind. And to be fair to him, nor am I really interested in him knowing. For that matter, very few people expect me to be a big brain. I suppose most people have not the slightest clue that I may actually be an intelligent being, preferring to remember me as the drunk porn actor.
Actually, very few people know. My best friend, my ex best-friend, maybe my mother sometimes, and you my beloved readers. But with you it's easy as I keep this blog rather anonymous. I regret it in a way, because the few of you that have been sending me messages are lovely people that I'd probably love sharing a dinner with. But if I was to meet you through this diary, and you suddenly became friends, I'd loose the complete freedom I have to write.
Freedom is a big word to be fair. Am I completely honest? Most of the time. But I can't reveal too many details about too many people, I would be recognized easily and that's certainly not the point. I did that before, and as soon as it started people started reading to know what was going on in my mind, and ended up with too many people knowing about my struggles with life, drugs and alcohol.
Because I believe I have a struggle. An addiction. Not to any drug or any form of alcohol in particular. I have an addiction to being wasted. I feel a huge pleasure in being slightly drunk or buzzing from a cocktail of class As and joints. Not always, not every day, not even every week-end these days, but I do indulge myself. And I feel shit the next day.
Is it really acceptable to get completely wasted? Where's the line between random drunkness and alcoholism? A number of glasses? A causing factor?
I think it's a question of moderation. And I don't think I can do moderation. I just can't, in any aspect of my life. In the evening, my glass of wine just to relax usually turns into finishing the bottle. And when I get wasted on a Friday night, I stay home all week-end and I do... My ironing. Thanks god to all that free time and my steam station, I finally finished most of the ironing I've left to accumulate for months.
And that's how I'm going to go forward. Every week-end, I'm going to focus on one task and finish whatever needs finishing. Paperwork, my business, my accounts (anyone knows a good accountant?)...
It's not a solution, it's just a path.
Oh and, believe it or not, I chose the title of the post before writing, and I still managed to hook up all the themes I wanted to talk about, and just let the text flow until I went back to the title. And when I see how much text I manage to spit in only half an hour I sometimes wonder if I should start writing a book. And then I realize reading something free is one thing, buying my ramblings is certainly another!