i had a (brief but brutal) struggle opening my eyes at 9 this morning. 2 hours after falling asleep. 8 hours after embarking upon an all-night dancing stint lasting no less than 5 hours, and being most out of character, as i always thought i hated nightclubs. but i realized last night that this dancing is much like sex, but without the feelings, and especially without the sex. more anonymous, less constraining, less emotional, less involved. fake. primal, platonic, no names, no talking, find a partner who only touches where i put his hands. it was a masquerade, and i masqueraded as everything that everyone wants me to be, but that i am not.
and so sleep ejected me, abruptly into the morning, 9:00am. i seized the rabbit by his cage and condemned him to the bathroom as punishment for the horrible, violent banging and clanging noises he is mysteriously apt to produce.
knowing that he probably just wanted to be let out, to be reunited with his beloved litter box, i felt bad for locking him up. but not that bad. sleep soon repossessed me, and he stayed in the bathroom for nearly four more hours. now he is sat seething in the litter box, glaring at me with contempt.
i caught my reflection in a small mirror and suddenly became mesmerized because i do not recognize myself. eyes look grey. my face reproduced across the iris. pupils dilate and shrink. looks like breathing.
been having strange days.
right now i feel nothing.
went by myself i guess it was on saturday, to a bar, drinking. met a man who fell ten years before from a 5-story building. he fought his doom, determined to walk again, and succeeded. in spite of this, he claims he's a pessimist, and decided at the age of 8 that he would soon die if the world did not improve. according to him, the world's time is up, and he'll be dead within the next five years.
his friend is etienne, and tells me about his two sons, one from his first marriage, and one from the woman for whom i assume he left his first wife. he jokes with me, and is obviously much more jovial and relaxed than his friend hervé, who he says is convinced that i am the woman of his life. i tell him this is absolutely impossible.
next day is sunday.
go out with two people, go home alone. sudden urge to cry, so i think i should jump over the fence to the closest park. sit there and smoke. disregarding my skirt, i leap over the thing and sit on a bench. do not find my lighter, but i do find a knife. my immediate thought is that i should kill myself. i cannot, for several obvious reasons, including that the knife is quite poorly made for the task. (i would've laughed if i had been capable, so much was the moment ridiculous.) feel sleepy, so i lie down and fall asleep. a few hours later, i am awakened by a homeless man who offers me some cardboard. asks me why i don't go home. i say i don't feel like it. "vous avez le cafard?"
it's true, i guess, i do.
i ask him for a light and leap back over the fence to trod home.
dinner and a lover's quarrel (not mine, of course) and i stick around afterhours to try my hand at being helpful. not very, but a fleeting feeling of reassurance washes over me and immediately disappears. amaze myself at bicycling all the way home.
next day the internet and tiny hard drive are both broken, and i am having panicked withdrawal, calling noos frantically. they displease me with incessant lies and cheap promises.
play silent hill.
next day go out looking to steal wifi. partially succeed.
then out drinking again. cannot manage to eat. sit in a cafe with a dog named orson and owner (of the cafe and the dog.) he chides my adoration for jane birkin, who passes by regularly, and he keeps walking away while i'm talking. "you're all the same!" he shouts. then immediately after: "you're the one who's different, elizabeth, you're the one who's fucked up."
makes my phone ring so i can find it, then asks with a hint of counterfeit misogyny if he should keep the number to use it. he has a train to brussels in the morning, and pretends to leave three times, but never does. orson sulks under the banquette.
enter E, N, and we are now E, N, E, around a table drinking half-heartedly. E says to E (me) that i should check reality by smashing my wine glass over my head. i consider it for a moment and then say it might make me embarrassed. but i pick up the glass and try it anyway; it breaks with surprising ease at the second collision with my head. i'm a little startled by the noise that goes "crash!" but i feel nothing. a waiter mechanically comes over to collect the broken glass; he says nothing and i do not excuse myself. two men at a nearby table are looking at me, grinning wildly. i ask them what's funny, but can't hear the response. E, N, up to exit. i collect the remaining shards of glass from the banquette and put them in the ashtray. get up to leave as well but am distracted by orson, whose disinterest in me is infinite. i blah blah for a bit and finally meet E and N, who decline to come to the club. climb onto my bike and off i go.
i am getting very good at drunk bicycling.