The Experience Will Stay With You;

This is the blog of a recovering anonymous alcoholic. There's also some Marxism creeping in now and then. Feel free to post comments, but if you know me, keep them anonymous. Thanks.

Monday, September 11, 2006

A semi-fictionalised account of the last few weeks

I feel like life's escaping me. Before I forget what I've been up to, I'm submitting some of it to a more concrete and reliable form than my memory. To misquote Stanislavski and paraphrase Bandler, what follows is not actually true.

I can just about remember 25th August, before that is lost. It's Friday night, I'm supposed to be getting an early train to London for a wedding celebration. I'm planning an early night. I get an invite to a fake dyke wedding at the castle. I can't resist and so don pink flares and a British Army jacket from the Crimean war and head off for some nonsense with red wine in a plastic bottle. Much nonsense ensues involving various pubs, parties and dodgy dealings. I end up in a scummy club dancing to electro-pop like a robot from 1984. I pull, we go back to mine and stay up all night. I get a train around 7am still wearing the jacket. I try to sleep on the train. I watch two episodes of Star Trek in a B&B then head out and buy a flowery shirt (I may look like trash, but I can't go to a wedding without a collar). A quick pint in The Olde Coffee Shop (what a saviour that place is on a Saturday with a hangover), thence to the wedding. With the groom and his mates in kilts and the bride's side in traditional Filipino dress, I didn't look out of place. Got slowly wasted and when drunk teenage Filipino girls started hitting on me decided it was time to exit.

Got up at 7am for breakfast but couldn't face it. Went and woke up a friend in Brixton. They had a party, BBQ, Frosty Jack's and cocaine. I got about two hours' sleep on the couch. Almost within minutes of waking I'd been handed a beer, the sun was out and the music was back on. Borrowed some clothes (as I hadn't brought any). We made it to about 10pm before collapsing. Went home the next day (i.e. Tuesday). Struggled through work on Wednesday and Thursday. Mostly drinking, though. On Friday, I had an opportunity to denounce Amnesty International as the bourgeois pacifists they are to someone doing research into NGOs. Stayed in Friday night as had a dinner date the next day (from previous Friday) and wanted to be fresh.

Saturday, up at 6am, blitzed the flat and went shopping. Finished by 12noon, opening time at the local. Dinner date got the sack so came and joined me around 1pm. We got slated on Stella. We drank coffee. I cooked Italian sweet and sour leg of pork (marinated in red wine for two days, cooked with chocolate and prunes). We got more slated on Merlot. More coffee. Down the pub to meet some of her friend's. Then to the club where we met for snakebite and black. Back to mine for dancing and wine till 4am. Invite to a party. MDMA. Asked to leave. More wine and industrial rock at my place. Got up at 7pm and went to the local for the quiz. Came fifth. The only thing I could remember was that the lead singer of The Fine Young Cannibals was Roland Gift.

Went to an osteopath on Monday morning. Had trouble controlling my sick stomach while he contorted me. Met an old alky friend whose been drying out. Hit the pub at 11am. Went home and crashed out. Couldn't concentrate on Tuesday. Back hurt like hell and brain was fogged from too many days drinking. Struggled through Wednesday and Thursday. Went out Thursday until about 7am. The party was dying down and noone was drinking but I was craving the peach snapps in the fridge. Didn't want to embarass myself though, so got a taxi home and downed a can of stella. Started reading An Actor Prepares by Constantin Stanislavski, an awesome book. Took some MDMA to stay awake so I could read it, but gave up around midday as the lines were no longer in the correct order on the page. Got up at 4:37pm. Had a shower and a can and went round a friend's for dinner. Gave her my camera and gear as I no longer use it. Went out and met a whole bunch of people. Started to get alcohol paranoia so went home for a bit, then went back out to meet friends. Last week's dinner date turned up at 2am, my friend's seem to thing she's a bit of a weirdo. Did some MDMA dropped with acid. Went back to mine at some point with this lovely weirdo who unfortunately doesn't want a sexual relationship. Finished off the drugs, did some salvia. Listened to Marilyn Manson, Korn, Ministry, Bright Eyes, The Pixies, Galaxie 500, Jane's Addiction, all day in the sunshine on the roof. Neighbours complained. Slept from around 3pm to 7pm. Went to a BBQ. Started drinking again by 8pm. Very shaky by this point - fazing in and out the conversation and wondering if I'll make it. Eventually had massive panic attack and existenstial crisis in the pub at 2am after doing some MDMA on top off Irish Black Russians. Lay around Sunday trying to put my brain back together. Listened to the cricket. The sun was hot and I was sweating it out. Whole body wretched. Went to the quiz at the local. Played with some random old guy who kept buying me pints. We came third. Couldn't face going home knowing there was no alcohol there. Bought a carton of red wine, a bag of pork scratchings and a copy of New Scientist.

As the sun woke me this morning (for we have now arrived almost to the present), I lay there fighting to stay in my semi-waking dream world, fighting to keep the hallucinatory fever and visions rather than face reality. After a few hours the dream world had almost slipped away and waking was upon me. Shower and coffee and cigarettes and back to work and act as if everything was normal. Which it is.


Blogger woyzeck said...

Forgot to mention, read Surfacing by Margaret Atwood on the train on the way back. Also read Chapter One of Capital at some point during the above and about a third of Madness and Civilization. All recommended.

8:42 pm  
Anonymous Anonymous said...

You've been busy then...

3:05 pm  
Anonymous Anonymous said...

hey man, kinda worried about ya... I'm not sure what to do tho, but sure that tea and sympathy won't be good enough. Even so, if talking'll help, send a signal.

11:53 pm  
Blogger woyzeck said...

It depends on whether I make it through the weekend. Two weekends in a row here is enough already. I had originally planned to go surf kayaking all weekend but my back is still not as flexible as I'd like. Will try swimming today and then, hopefully, a brief spell in a boat tomorrow.

Main objective for the weekend is to stay in and finish reading Anti-Capitalism: A Marxist Introduction. Need to find a date for Saturday or some other distraction.

Tea is good, sympathy is futile. Pace to lead. Who wants to sympathise with (i.e. feel similar to) a depressive? What fool wants their own misery reflected back at them? Tea and cake, tea and idle reflections on the paving stones, tea and pigeons; but god save me from tea and sympathy!

I've only had a measly eight units so far this week. Just need to keep myself occupied tonight.

What does "send a signal" mean? In binary?

Thanks v much for the comment.

9:22 am  
Anonymous Anonymous said...

I guess you're objective enough (you do in fact state it) but your self-pity is tiresome, unpleasant, detestable and odious.

9:13 pm  
Blogger woyzeck said...

No shit

7:24 am  
Blogger woyzeck said...

A more measured response.

self-pity pity or tender feeling for oneself
From OED online

This understates the case. I prefer the definition from the Oxford Concise:

self-pity extreme sorrow for one's own troubles etc.

I agree that this is disgusting and, in my case, often tiresome. Instead of indulging in self-pity why don't I do something about my "troubles"? Well, I am, and this is its current incarnation. There being no therapists around that I feel make a difference to me. Of course, if I then just use my blog to publish my self-pity I'm not making progress.

Then, which particular bit do you identify as "self-pity"? Maybe it's my rant about sympathy, but I don't see that as self-pity. I don't want sympathy, I want company. What I regard as self-pity is the bit about "send a signal". This is dissimulation on my part. Whilst I might not have thought about "sending a signal", once the suggestion is made I can hardly pretend to not know what to do. To do so, as I did, is to pretend that I am so depressed, confused, paranoid, or whatever that I don't know what it means. And that is dishonest.

So, I read "sympathy" as "listening to my self-pity" and I take your comment as a corrective and apologise for having provoked it.

8:12 am  
Anonymous Anonymous said...

I'm the anonymous commenter that said 'send a signal'. You've sent it (on here). Will try to get your phone no somehow. I'm not the one that called your self-pity odious, etc. That's someone else.

7:00 am  
Blogger woyzeck said...

I didn't know if the two anons were the same, but I did think that the second anon was responding to my response to first anon. (Hope that makes sense!)

7:28 am  
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I'm looking forward to getting more information about this topic, don't worry about negative opinions.

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