Something something

I was thinking - because there’s not much else to do at 2 in the morning – about how typically twisted life can be. When we try to describe ourselves, we do it by comparison to others and for me that resulted in some unique conclusions. Normally, people live in society, with relatives, spouses, friends, lovers and sometimes with the complicated, desired and really weird fuck pals. They wake up in the morning, have a cup of coffee while planning the day’s work schedule, or just go over it again. They do their jobs, while smiling a fake smile at a rival workmate, or gossiping on a cigarette break about the secretary, or just lash out, under the influence of the mornings’ coffee (in this case to be read “beer”), and hit a colleague over the kneecap with a shovel (which is a completely valid hypothesis providing we are talking about construction workers). Normal people get off work, have a drink in a bar, pick up groceries on the way back, tidy up their place, take a shower, have dinner and go to bed. Some of the less normal probably, at that time of night, just sit around and daydream (or is it eveningdream), or just puff a second puff and pass, as the rule says, and contemplate their fucked up lives with their fucked up dramas and their probably fucked up futures, which is none of their fucked up fault (and it’s not). They all share the common trait of being social creatures though; as said, involved in constant interaction with their relatives, spouses, friends and so forth.

I don’t, period. While I’m an arrogant bastard who’s too smug to admit failure, I completely suck at that. Perhaps it’s the fact that I’ve always felt there is more to life than just following conventions. In reality, I follow them when I have to, though I completely loathe calling someone on their birthday and wishing them all that shit the rest of their 101 acquaintances have already wished them before me every single damn year (unless they are 1 and they don’t really give a fuck anyway). But I don’t do social if I don’t have to. If there would be a command button for sex, I’d hardly bother nodding at girls, even though, ironically, the vast majority of my friends consists of female characters. Some may think I am wrong for, as past tells us, I’m usually the center in a social gathering… Which makes me point out, again and so soon, that most of my friends are women.

I mostly hate other men. They’re dumb and plain and posses the insight of a brick wall and the subtlety of a rhino in a porcelain store and the attention span of a squirrel on crack. They’re twice as gossipy and scorned as women, and I rather discuss PMS than spend 5 minutes in the company of 2 football fans. I always felt odd around them, which is why, for a very short period of time, I started wondering if I might be gay. I’m not, in case you were wondering too. But I think that if I was, I’d be excellent at it. Do you know other guys who can dismantle a woman’s wardrobe and discuss the fine details of a chocolate cake? I didn’t think so…

But this is what attracts about me. Why girls may suddenly levitate around my presence, inexplicably attracted by a gravitational field of Interesting. I’m insecure, lonely and shy. Deep down inside anyway. I buried those attributes when I discovered that women don’t really find that appealing. Instead they like being told they look fat in that dress, they admire the mastering of the crafty art of being a jerk and they rather enjoy the company of someone who just doesn’t care. Which is exactly the opposite of what they want. No, I am not picking on women – I rather think they’re wonderful creatures, insane (and so I can relate), who could very much turn the world into Heaven then burn it down to ashes in mere seconds after. I like women ‘cause they’re complicated and challenging and very hard to stay friends with.

And I find myself digressing and not really aware of what I wanted to point out with this piece. There was a small paragraph in my mind (because, yes, I did mind spoke it before I started typing) about the reason of my being arrogant and using words like flamboyant and showing off (which is precisely why I would use words like flamboyant). What you may take from this monologue is that Terry Pratchett is one of the most amazing writers of our times and you should definitely look up his books. He is made of pure awesome just like Brad Pitt in Troy, though the movie generally sucked and Orlando Bloom gayed out the whole experience (almost as much as Twilight did to the entire planet).

Another point would be that, while I do follow a basic set of self-taught rules about social events and can’t quite be my regular word-fumbling me, I do miss my friends. I go to bed scared and wake up terrified and the only thing I can imagine is the people I care about barely remembering me during a day’s length because they most likely have more important things to consider. Like paying rent for example or feeding the cat. I have nightmares constantly and wake up in cold sweat, which isn’t such a lovely experience, and can’t help but wonder why the hell I’m traumatizing myself like this. Granted, I do swallow about 4 cups of coffee a day and write for hours when I should pay more attention to the job, but, as previously mentioned, life is so typically twisted (just because it can).

I sit by the computer, port side of the bridge, and glance once in a while at Ajaccio, which is a beautiful port in Corse. Of course, port side means left side, and bridge means navigation deck, and Corse is Corsica for the uneducated. I’ve got a splitting headache and am down to the 20^th coffin nail and 2^nd cup of coffee, and ponder in horror the fact that, in the morning, we will berth for discharge. I wonder about the irony of being pro nature while carrying and handling fuel that releases plenty carbon monoxide when burned. And doing a job that mainly involves paper which, in many a case, is thrown in the waste bin just because shipping companies don’t want to develop an electronic system that would make everyone’s life better. But mostly I just wish I’d align all those assholes who think my job’s romantic and great and the “you get to see the fucking world!”, and kick their intestines up their necks. Yes, I did say I’m coping with the whole deal but I already miss home and I’m rather pissed ‘cause I can’t make any phone calls and I didn’t pack enough t-shirts and pray I will not lose my mind completely before the end of December, Amen.