Ageing - shaken, not stirred.

I have aged. I have grown wise. The sands of time have changed me, the dunes have shifted, the autumn leaves aren’t quite falling, but the tick-tock hurries on over the hill. I slip about the house in my grandpa slippers, lost in a dressing gown. My forehead is creased with fresh lines that tell stories of pain and experience. I start sentences with “back in my day...” and dream of my ever more distant youth...

And yet, for all this wisdom that one of my vintage supposedly possesses, I still seem to misunderstand the fundamentals of life. Such as, the drunker you are, the more bruises you get. Or, the drunker you were, the worse your hangover is. Having turned 21 precisely 7 days ago, I may or may not have over-indulged in various alcoholic substances. I’ll leave that up to your imagination. Wether as a result of this or not, my 21st passed in a crazy fun whirlwind that ended in a pile of crushed lollipops and black tufts of fake hair. I have amazing friends and family who made me feel very special, in a loved as opposed to a retarded kind of way. I learnt that you’ve never really lived until you’ve had a bite-sized cupcake and revelled in the power of its tiny icing-capped-peak and that it’s a shame you only get to turn 21 once. After that, you’re just old.

However, I have very few concrete recollections of the last week at all, despite the fact I was only actually intoxicated on one particular evening. This time last week I was saying a mournful goodbye to my 20 year old self, and now here I am, trying to establish what exactly happened to the last 7 days of my life.

I remember swinging my jacket like a stripper and shaking my ‘booty’ on the dance floor, eating two MacDonald’s chips and vomiting my guts up. I remember fresh ocean air and warm cosy pillows. Wrapping paper, friendly smiles, a bowtie and swinging a cricket bat, and then yakking my guts up. I remember staring into space feeling like someone had tried to remove my heart through my navel. I remember an overbearing numbness and dozing off leaning against a pile of t-shirts. I remember waking up even more tired and vomiting my guts up. I remember an evening when reality pissed off, and my heart flew freely. Then the dawn came, cool crisp air and there I was again, vomiting my empty stomach up for no apparent reason at all.

I vaguely recall having what was probably the most grown up conversation of my life. It was strange words whispered in an oppressive darkness and far too many “I don’t knows”. I have been talking so much, too much, vomiting honesty, carrots and hope. It all came and went so quickly, leaving only a fading memory, nausea and some embarrassing photos to testify its existence.

At 10.28pm on the 17/06/2009 it struck me that I hate every fucking song on the radio. Do they ever sing about something other than love or being rich and famous? Im sitting out in the dark, alone and cold and small. There are a million stars or more, and my heart is swallowed up again by the empty nothingness. When you are scared of loosing something, you hold onto it extra tight, even though you know you can’t win, you hold on anyway. I have the distinct feeling that someone shook up the fanta bottle in which I float and then opened it; the fizz was fun, but the ensuing silence is just sticky.