Saturday, June 21, 2003
4 hours later and I wake to find this handwritten next to my pillow. I tell myself I'll be fine, 4 hours is enough time to metabolise all that. Right?
So, typed retrospectively, with minor alterations to spelling and grammer :
Feeling as I write this : rather drunk
Systems 80% functional, core integrity intact. Some inner-ear and facial nerve desensitisation / palsy. I have an overwhelming desire to put my cheek to my pillow and sink headfirst into blissful oblivion.
But before this, I write.
I've had an exhilarating evening, and I'm not sure why.
Dinner and drinks with Anna and co. The newly enlisted, answering their calling. Looking more shell shocked than anything.
Too much pimms.
Left when the novelty of talking to strangers began to wear thin. Anna's flatmate is an actress. Very tall, very young, very beautiful and very actressy. It's been a while since I've spoken to anyone quite so different from the run of the mill medical or paramedical or legal types.
Arrived at : Helen's party.
Shehab brushes by on the way out. We exchange the traditional male hand-grip of affection.
Step in, look for Helen, step out x3. Finally realise it's all happening upstairs (private party)
Upstairs, I meet Helen immediately and hug her. Buy her a drink. She looks happy, which is good. And she's off, dancing with all her friends. I dont' seem to know anyone here, and the few I know by sight ignore me, utterly. Stand by a little to the side watching everyone dance or chat happily together, drinking a particularly foul pint of John Smith's and feeling rather lost and out of place. Get up to go at last, and Alice steps in. She's shooting around meeting the people she knows. They do the girly hyperventilating huggy thing, while she does this cute bob on her feet; the same one she does at dance class when she swaps to a new partner. The girls she knows are, ironically, the people I know by face, who were ignoring me.
Dancing. Alice keeps dragging me in. The dancing, oh the dancing. Ironic, how I wrote that in jest in last year's yearbook, when we really hadn't. Just a few chocolate cakes... the dancing crack was a quote from ? Notting Hill, the movie. A year later, and we really are. Self fulfilling prophecy?
I know how drunk i must sound right now :\ (continued)
So, typed retrospectively, with minor alterations to spelling and grammer :
Feeling as I write this : rather drunk
Systems 80% functional, core integrity intact. Some inner-ear and facial nerve desensitisation / palsy. I have an overwhelming desire to put my cheek to my pillow and sink headfirst into blissful oblivion.
But before this, I write.
I've had an exhilarating evening, and I'm not sure why.
Dinner and drinks with Anna and co. The newly enlisted, answering their calling. Looking more shell shocked than anything.
Too much pimms.
Left when the novelty of talking to strangers began to wear thin. Anna's flatmate is an actress. Very tall, very young, very beautiful and very actressy. It's been a while since I've spoken to anyone quite so different from the run of the mill medical or paramedical or legal types.
Arrived at : Helen's party.
Shehab brushes by on the way out. We exchange the traditional male hand-grip of affection.
Step in, look for Helen, step out x3. Finally realise it's all happening upstairs (private party)
Upstairs, I meet Helen immediately and hug her. Buy her a drink. She looks happy, which is good. And she's off, dancing with all her friends. I dont' seem to know anyone here, and the few I know by sight ignore me, utterly. Stand by a little to the side watching everyone dance or chat happily together, drinking a particularly foul pint of John Smith's and feeling rather lost and out of place. Get up to go at last, and Alice steps in. She's shooting around meeting the people she knows. They do the girly hyperventilating huggy thing, while she does this cute bob on her feet; the same one she does at dance class when she swaps to a new partner. The girls she knows are, ironically, the people I know by face, who were ignoring me.
Dancing. Alice keeps dragging me in. The dancing, oh the dancing. Ironic, how I wrote that in jest in last year's yearbook, when we really hadn't. Just a few chocolate cakes... the dancing crack was a quote from ? Notting Hill, the movie. A year later, and we really are. Self fulfilling prophecy?
I know how drunk i must sound right now :\ (continued)
