way up there

I feel miserable.
I want to just let go of myself and I don’t want to be polite and have manners and say things like “please”, “excuse me” and smile all the time like I care about everyone’s welfare. Newsflash, I don’t and I don’t want to be part of this social bullshit.

What I really want to do is… sing and dance.
Yes, sing and dance. Get drunk and sing and dance until the world seems really fun and I can stand living in it.
Go to Hibiki and sing all my favorite songs and dance to the tune of all the songs the regulars were singing, like Sweet Caroline (oh oh oh).

I also want to lounge around a house full of soft soft pillows, bean bags and lots of fine wine. I want nice music, the kind that I can dance to alone, or if someone can slow dance with me that would be excellent. I want to be in my pajamas and huge red jacket, wine glass in hand --- never empty. Never empty.

And then I want to call a fortune teller and have him tell me all sorts of things about my life. Like, don’t worry you’re not a slag you truly loved him and things like that. Or there’s a much better man coming along and you don’t have to worry about his cholesterol level because he’s fucking Lou Ferrigno.

Also I’d like a whole weekend to myself, maybe to go the beach or write a book. Write a book about me or a children’s book about a five-year-old boy breaking a four-year-old girl’s heart. That would be very useful to toddlers. Warn the kids while they’re young, because when they find out what they’re getting into in ten years time there’s no going back. Hell. Ok this is a bit too much but who the hell cares.

And I want to be bitter. And be forgiven for it. Or completely ignored even. I just don’t want to be judged for saying things I feel like saying. I want to tell the world that I was very cautious and doing all the right things when Guillaume and I were together. And that I had no reason to think that I was to be blamed for the break-up. It was his break-up, not mine. And I just kind of went along with it since it obviously takes two to tango. I want to tell him how horrible it feels and ask if he’s guilty. If he is, good. If not, then fuck it. What’s new.

And one more thing. I want to fly. Travel, fly, literally, like a bird or a plane. When you’re above everyone no one can really do anything to you, you’re absolutely free, and no one would dare catch you and drag you down. Or if they really want to catch you then they have to do some serious thinking. Because it’s not easy reaching for the sky. I want to be waaaaaaay up there.

Way up there, man.