Somehow they never notice when I creep out of bed in the middle of the night, cross the room to my bag and reach for my notebook or my recorder, sit down at the chair and start to either furiously type at the computer, mumble into my cheap handheld, or scribble on my paper. My thoughts pouring out of my head and bleeding into whichever medium I happen to have at my disposal on this particular night, bleeding out and giving me the release that no one else can give. This is what I need, this letting loose of the flood gates. My lover, obliviously sleeping through it all in the bed nearby, too close for comfort, yet not close enough to comfort me.
I don\’t know how I got here tonight. There\’s so much alcohol in my system… I didn\’t have enough cash in my wallet so I started a tab at the bar. One drink led to another, into another, into another, into another. I was at the bar before I met up with Jen and Eran, drink away the stress, start dancing, have another drink, feels good. I like to feel good — who doesn\’t? Really… that\’s not the truth. The truth… the truth is that the alcohol in my system lets me calm down, lets me stop thinking about my life and lets me concentrate on the show. It works just like a good depressant should. If the Celexa works half as well as a few drinks, I\’ll be begging [my shrink] to up my dose, because this anxiety is taking me over.
I can\’t control it. Like the blood in my pants, like the wrenching in my stomach that keeps crawling around these days, like the fickle behavior of people and the tendency for them to act the way they want to which is not generally in accordance with how I would want them to act. I can\’t control it. Like everything else in my life seems to be on fast forward, and I\’m just sitting still, watching. And I can\’t control it, like the setting moon that I am straining to see through the window. I can\’t control it, like the rest of the world, like everything else, I\’m just a spectator.
And I know he is laying there, and I am sitting here in the corner, and it seems like I spend my life sitting in the corner, huddled over a notebook, or mumbling into my recording, or tapping on a keyboard, trying to get it all out, trying to escape from everything that\’s in my head. Sometimes it feels like I\’ll never be rid of it. I don\’t know what \”it\” is; \”it\” seems so self-indulgent, but \”it\” is always there. No, that\’s a lie. \”It\” isn\’t always there. Lately — the past few months — \”it\” is there less frequently, whatever \”it\” is. Maybe I have been healthier.
Walking tonight, up and down 18th, all these memories came flooding back from the past… I guess it has been five years now. That\’s a lot of time to cover. Not so long, but long. I guess not long at all, but when you\’re drunk, five years can seem like a long fucking time, and you know what? I would rather let go. I would rather be rid… of it all. And sometimes I am. And sometimes the past is my best friend. Sometimes, at night, I don\’t have any other friends. I don\’t have anyone else to talk to except the past. And that\’s pretty fucking sad, but it\’s nobody\’s fault but my own. I don\’t have anyone to blame but myself. And that\’s even more sad. So I\’ve been trying to get past that.
And I\’ve met someone. No, that\’s not the way to go about this. Lately, I\’ve been getting, trying to lead a more normal life — this lifestyle of busy-ness. I\’ve been trying to be so busy that I don\’t have time to be self-indulgent. Sometimes I am successful. Other times… the self-indulgence takes over, and the thought process of self-indulgence gets in the way of the lifestyle that I want to be living. And I want to be studying but what ends up happening is I end up thinking about myself instead of concentrating on the history that I should be reading, and instead of thinking about Ming China I end up thinking about fucking god damn… my eating habits instead of… Ming China, and heaven help me because Ming China is pretty damn interesting! My eating habits, on the other hand, are of no consequence to anyone but me. [laughs]
[voice in the background] Cassandra? Where are you?
Over by the window.
Who are you talking to?
Myself.
Everything okay?
Everything\’s fine. I\’m just watching the moon.
Come back to bed.
[sound of bare feet hitting vinyl floor and walking, rustling of sheets]
What\’s that?
Oh, oops.
[dead air]
