Deep Shit

In deep shit

I am in deep shit inside some shithole north of were I usually hang
out, I am slightly more drunk then if I were just drunk on a wicked
night out and I feel terribly sorry for myself. Somehow though it
doesn't matter cause I got plenty of time another ten or twenty years
anyhow and I know that sooner or later the perfect day will
arrive.
The perfect day is of course something out of a movie or at least a
song perhaps both.
Somehow things never turn the way I expect them to, which doesn't mean
they go wrong, they just don't go the way I would want them to, which
is straight and simple.
I was looking forward to going out with some bird I had met ages ago
and which since then I had seen again and again and somehow as so often
at one point I started projecting all those things onto her. Actually
if I look at it subjectively I didn't project anything much onto her.
It was just the odd conversation which commenced through a play of
words and ideas, keeping me alert and for once I felt as if there was
someone that I understood and wanted to understand and equally there
was someone who understood me. Looking at it from that point I realised
that it was a lot more than not much that I was projecting.
It was just before Xmas and I was considering to give her the
homehelper I had received as a birthday present from Emily as a Xmas
present, which wasn't cause I wasn't able to get something perhaps a
little more appropriate, but simply because of a lack of time. The
homehelper initially had served me well it was a midget robot who was
doing everything for me, from cooking tea and preparing food to doing
the washing up cleaning the flat and doing my laundry and all that for
a little power supply now and then.
Then after a few month the midget whom I simply called Midget became
the good friend with one other electrical item in my flat. This was the
end of luxury and the beginning of a deep and long battle. Instead of
doing anything which could be considered useful, Midget was now trying
to educate me into solving my own problems, which was pointless as I
had done so until its sudden arrival back in August. So our mindless
conversations started being less frequent till eventually the former
homehelper had turned into a somewhat parasitic luxury item consuming
electricity without giving much in return.
That I expected was due to our discrepancies as well as the involvement
of rollerball, who since had its battery removed, which didn't make
Midget any happier.
My theory was that in the hands of the woman of my sleepless nights
Midget would get its senses back and serve her well, more though cause
she was a very likeable person, who would care well for it. But it
hadn't come that far as the final meeting between us had been postponed
and I wasn't sure whether there would be another chance to pass a
present over without looking to conspicuous.
This and other thoughts are streaming through my head while I am slowly
sliding of the barstool I am occupying.
But I guess I got another five minutes before gravitational forces will
finally pull me to the ground.
A hand tips me on the shoulder and as I turn I loose the last bit of
balance I was holding onto and tumble to the floor my arms waving
wildly as they try to hold onto something.
Fuck, I am shouting loudly in my drunken stupor.
Some hands are grabbing hold of me pulling me up and slowly turning me
around.
Kelm are you alright, I can hear a voice shout over the noise of the
music and as I pull my eyes fully open concentrating very hard, I
recognise John and god knows what he is doing here.
What are you doing here ???
He stares at me with great disbelieve, before shaking his head.
You called about three times telling me were to find you, telling me to
come over, and most of all telling me how brilliant a place this was
and if you ask me it looks like a complete shithole, and you as if
you're up to your neck in it.
Well, - maybe but so what? Who cares. Have a drink.
Hm! Do you want another, he asks looking rather sceptical.
Yeah I have a pint ? of water and lime and ice pleeeaase!
Are you gonna be alright standing up??
I'm old enough to stand up by myself, I shout.
He turns to the bar without answering and I grin at some woman next to
me who looks disgusted.
What's up anyway, asks John when he gets back.
I'm in mourning, I reply.
Mourning what, what happened.
She dumped me!!!
Agh ? who dumped you? I didn't know there was someone who could dump
you.
She did.
Who is she.
She.
Oh ? she ? OK ! But there are others and anyhow I didn't know you had a
she in your life.
Well I did kind of ? almost ? nothing definite but almost there and
totally besotted.
Totally drunk.
I got all the reason in the world to be totally drunk, even more drunk
than that if you ask me!
But I don't.
But if you did I would don't you think?!
Well no I don't actually.
OK!
I think we should get out of here.
Why?
Cause it's horrible in here . . and the beer is shit.
I know that's why I started drinking watered down Whiskey.
Which is why you are fucked as you are now.
I'm not, I wish I was, but I'm not, I say slurring my voice and
extending every word to its maximum length.
Come on lets go.
Let's go, let's go, you only just got here.
He grabs my arm and drags me out and I don't resist cause I am beyond
resistance.
Outside we get a cab.
Where are we?
Somewhere in Islington, he replies.
Does he know were we're going.
Yes, he does.
I may not have enough money, and I pull my wallet out distributing its
content all over the floor of the cab.
I don't feel so good John, how far do we have to go?
Just hold on, we are there in about two or three minutes.
I may not have enough money though.
I do, just sit back and shut up ok.
So I lean back and close my eyes and through my closed eyes I can hear
the cab driver asking whether I am OK cause he doesn't want a mess in
his cab.
Wanker, I think.
But I don't say anything cause I am about to fall asleep.

The next morning I feel like shit possibly worth. John is gone and I
have absolutely no idea how I got home.
Cup of tea and a couple of cigarettes some vitamin tablets and two alka
seltzers it's eleven o'clock and I got to work at twelve thirty.
I vaguely consider calling in sick but I don't do day's off.

© Marcus Bastel