Another shitty day in paradise

First day where I begin to sober up again. Yesterday was all recovery. After a week of continuous drinking, I had sat having a glass of red wine (donated by my friend Robin) when it hit. The dizziness and wrenching body spasms of sickness when your body starts to reject the alcohol. There I am again leaning over the porcelain goddess again... wow it seems like ages ago old friend. And... nothing. I tried again... nothing. Wait a minute, when was the last time I ate? A day ago, a day and a half? I sunk down and laid on the bathroom floor staring at the crumbling sealing listening to the rats crawling between the floors. And the drainage pipes below. Smelling like piss and booze. You feel like ooze, wanting to flow down there just about now. Not again, forgetting to eat. Forgetting to sleep. Why is it that I feel the most human here, when my mucus covered fingers have nothing better to do than force myself to regurgitate.


Somehow, it felt like writing essays in college. So I laid their scribbling on the ceiling. You never know what you can get from a good dry hangover.

0 - Oblivion

Oblivion...

I’m standing here almost at the beginning. One more assignment to go and I’ll be the proud owner of that sheepskin. The one your parents are always egging you on to achieve. Yes it’s limbo all over again as you’re asking the question: So… what now? Motivation Zero. Was it suppose to be some kind of success or was I again mislead. I am standing here trying to confront what I am disgusted at (our happy capital city of Bangkok), sky high bar looking down at pollution crowds and the cloud buildings, feeling much the same really; scammed. Really now, was it worth it? You read the front pages of the smiling faces and happy testimonials, and you make a fantasy of yourself walking around enjoying the sunshine, lying in the yard talking to friends, meeting strange wonderful people, and getting a through academic education at the same time. To give the dream credit, I didn’t go to a good school. Still I can just shut my stream of mental rotations for a second and listen to the conversation going on next to me, some two blond chicks from somewhere or there, or the old man sitting around sipping liquor, or the group of wealthy something something networking young professionals all getting drunk (like me) to realize we’re all missing something.

Don’t remember who said it (maybe it was Stephan King) when we’re puking in the gutter the color’s the same. Well from personal experience I’ll say there’s not much difference in the price of liquor, but there is a discernable difference in pigmentation if you’re looking for it. Or if you’re trying to feed fish.

Maybe I just have a problem with society. I've been told I have an attitude problem; an authority problem; (Had) a drug problem; (resuming) an alcohol problem; (had) a smoking problem; some sexual dysfunctional fixation problem; etc. ad neasuem. 

You know. Maybe I just have a smiling problem. Or even worse; a writing problem.

And I’m tired of trying to fix it. I'm looking back for that time. It seemed so long ago when everything was perfect; seemed perfect. Naw, I just didn't care. Floating there in chemical oblivion, master of my own universe... and perhaps that was really the answer after all.

... at least to the writing problem. 

ARE YOU THE COMERICAL AUDIENCE?

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Copyright 2010, Saranit Vongkiatkajorn