What Happens (Next)

So, a mere 20 hours on, and there you have it. Another night unremembered, collossously (sp?) drunk, against your better counsel. Haven't had a night like that since, well, the fast ferry to Nuweiba. You can now look forward to a Monday at the office of awkwardness, and other random encounters too. It's fascinating in a sense, the one-sidedness of not knowing how you are perceived based on such antics. Based on unknown discussions and unknown actions. Whether there will be a Comstock-esq call to follow, for example. The emptiness of mind, the suicide of a night, the gradual unraveling of consequences. You think to yourself you'll avoid it but with the initial choices and after you hasten ever faster toward it. It is fascinating. The snapshots. You feel sometimes as though you could write pages on it.

Remember this, though, the quiet and security of this room. This new "home", a mattress, a closet, and a few bags of clothing and boxes of books. "Nasser? It's 2.". How even this is comforting, as a place to hide. Are you hiding? I don't know. But you need to think whether the British Visa is necessary - but even writing that I think it is, even if not used immediately. So more properly you need to think about what to do come May 10. Fortunately there's the Camino for a'that, and other conversations/reunions besides. Re-union. I never thought about that word like that before. I like that. I like that about this to - the shoving aside of conventionality involved in being so damn ridiculous. Yes, the sight can bring about ugly reprecussions (is there a concept of preprecussions?) but there it is, even if at the end there is nothing concrete to show for it, to replace it with, to say "here is my alternative" as if it were a true one.

I don't know. And because we don't know, we go on. I can't wait to see what happens next.