the tuesday conversation.
it goes a bit like this…
“mate… after that party/gig/night out i…really, i mean i am shattered for real. i’ve got to take it easy you know. i’m thinking i need to lay off the drinking and partying a bit. just for a few weeks at least. “
three days or two days or several hours later. you find yourself dancing in a bar cellar on drink number 4? 5? 6? 10? you have new friends, they buy you shots, they dance with you. you have a new friend. he asks if you have a boyfriend, you say no, he says well we can kiss then…
so you make out with the portuguese guy for a bit, then you realise you’ve lost the friends you came with, so you start dancing with that really sexy, somewhat wasted kenyan girl. and you can feel the boys around you going a bit nuts. but being german they do not attempt to jump in or make comment. and you can tell this girl likes you but she will not let you kiss her in public. she’s kind of straight. but not soooo straight. when you take her outside, she falls against you and you’re making out along the wall. did the portuguese guy see you leave? three spanish boys watch you and the kenyan girl kiss. afterwards the girl goes in. one of your friends come out. one of the spanish boys comes up to you and says “i was jealous, i mean, i was jealous of both of you when you were kissing”. you feel shy for a second. your friend asks who you were kissing.
and you end up afterwards heading to another friend’s house. only to watch them take mushrooms that are too old to work and the sun is rising. you work out you’ve been drinking for at least 6 hours. your friends flatmate doesn’t understand that you hate beer so much you won’t drink it when he opens you a bottle and bets you five euros that you can drink it. and you don’t even know how you can possibly cycle back home. but you do.
and the next day you are totally utterly broken. your ARE your hangover. but you must not just stay in and sleep, you must go out and make something out of saturday night. so you go see a new friend play a super fun gig, only to move on to and old friend’s new club. and as the third whiskey sour replaces the second you wonder if after these two days there is more alcohol in your body than blood.
you come home at six am. you sleep until 4. you try to convince yourself that tonight, tonight, today, you must stay in. you must. a friend invites you to go see a gig at a club around 1 am.
and though you say ” mate… after last night i…really, i mean i am shattered for real. i’ve got to …”
you recognise that this is the 4pm conversation. and its just as likely later that you will be knocking back shots and dancing, as it is for you to be reading poetry and falling asleep.
