…And We Got As High As Shit

September 22, 2008

Good Morning all!

 

Today’s blog is a Sunday/Monday combo effort – I started writing yesterday, lost my mojo, and wrote quite a lot of bullshit, so I’m tidying it up this morning, and then adding whatever comes to mind. Maybe something about a Unicorn, or maybe that they’ve brought back Monster Munch in the bigger sizes which = happy David. Even though it means I have to take up eating crisps again, which I think I probably gave up about the time Monster Munch went small. (Circa 1988) What are Monster Munch you say? Well, click here and it’ll tell you all about them.

 

Anyway, as you can probably tell, I’m in the sort of mood where I waffle today. So that might make for an extensive blog. Let’s find out, eh?

 

Oh – and today is the first day where it is less than a month until my birthday! I realise that at 29 I should either (a) be worried about getting old, (b) lying about my age, or (c) losing my hair, but I’m doing none of the above, and am really rather excited! Like I said, I’m going to throw myself a party at some point – I’m just going to have to work out what to do.

 

This weekend I have been going through my old familiar pattern of wanting to be a writer. I don’t know why it comes up every so often – perhaps it is rooted in a desire to wish to appear authentic or ‘real’.

 

Perhaps it’s because I have been thinking about love. Sunday morning, I watched a really rather lovely movie called ‘Purple Violets’, written and directed by one of my favourite people who do that – Ed Burns, which probably made it worse. (Info here and some more here) It’s certainly made me feel… longing this morning.

 

I have had a number of story ideas that I revisit every so often; I slightly modify the storyline or characters or settings, but ultimately, in my mind, I have been writing about 6 books for about 10 years.

 

I am sure, since I find them almost impossible to put onto paper or laptop, that they are just constructs of my subconscious; something to let me know by way of metaphor what is happening in my upstairs department. Every so often, I’ll give them a stab – in fact, about 2 months before I began my Hoffman Process, I had a wall absolutely covered in post-it notes, each describing a scene, a name, or perhaps a line I was going to use to deliberately manipulate the reader into feeling emotion. One I had on my wall from a story I was thinking about writing was ‘if you want to fall in love with my dad, that’s ok,’ to be said by a wise-beyond-her-years 8 year old girl. Anyway, things like that.

 

Maybe I’ll write the beginnings of one of my stories at some point today, and post it up here as an example, for your judgement and possible validation. In fact… yeah, that’s just what I’ll do. If you’re reading this, and there is nothing above it, come back later, and hopefully I’ll have something for you.

 

Aside from telling you all that I have had a rather short haircut, I’d like to tell you all about last night.

 

In my continuing quest of reconnection, last night, I met up with an old friend – but this one was slightly different. Oli and I go back a long, long way – for oh so many reasons.

 

Once upon a time – think black and white film, and jaunty piano soundtracks – I was friends with three other guys and Oli. I guess Oli and I were the rebels, and it’s no surprise that come the year 2008, those three guys are either married, with kids, or about to take that step, and Oli and I are still playing a grown up game called ‘Man Child’. In times past, we would all go clubbing together, or on holiday together – Magaluf 1997 represent! –  And it was generally Oli and I who would be the ones getting into trouble.

 

Anyway, long story short, before I lost it a bit and went off by myself into some pretty dark spaces, it was Oli with whom I started to do drugs. I (sort of) remember one night in particular. It was the night after (I think, my timeline around this period is blurred to say the least) I got back from 9 months of travelling, and Oli and I went out to celebrate. I think we went to Ministry of Sound, and basically, the two of us got as high as shit. And they served drinks in florescent glasses. That’s the sum total of my memories of that night.

 

So when Oli texted me out of clear blue sky recently, I was nervous to meet him again, but willing nonetheless.

 

If ‘Guns ‘n’ Roses’ has sung about ‘Pattern City’ rather than ‘Paradise’, it would have been the soundtrack to yesterday. I was a mess. I couldn’t even look at Oli, let alone talk to him about anything of substance. I was a ball of completely nervous energy – and very much like the pre-process David. I even had a beer. I know, shocker, but for me that’s a sign. Especially given my Manchester regret-a-thon a couple of weeks back.

 

Oli is a reformed guy, who now lives the clean life and, like me, is studying Psychology – although I haven’t officially started yet. In fact, we probably have just as much in common now as when our collective interests amounted to seeing how much we could stuff up our nose, but I felt totally ill at ease last night, and, actually, pretty upset. I guess, these days, I am just petrified about drugs, and the feeling I get from even the thought of them.

 

I am no hypocrite, and I will always admit that despite a couple of close brushes with death, that it was the enjoyment factor which a great contributor to my long (long) association with drugs. But if anyone ever asks me how I’m not going to go back to them, I tell them exactly that – I am absolutely fucking terrified of going back. Fucking terrified.

 

Right, so to review – drugs no, stories yes, and I have a short haircut.

 

Anyway, how were your weekends?

 

Closed Box

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One Response to “…And We Got As High As Shit”

  1. DC Says:

    I also have 30 coming around the corner. I’m not scared either. I take it as a new chapter in life.

    The drugs were also a part of my younger days. I would never go back either. Like you, I did enjoy them at the time, but would never do them again.

    Good luck with the writing!


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