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I woke up sober today. I don’t know if you’ve ever gotten so drunk that you said things you
shouldn’t have but that was me last night. Today, I woke up sober and remembering everything.
The sun was just barely creeping through the blinds making cell bars on the carpet below me. My
fingers are laced, palms down with my forehead resting above that. I lay there thinking obsessively
in my self-made prison. Reality is, that’s all I did last night. 7 hours of closing my eyes, waking up,
staring at the carpet, feeling the crease on my side where the carpet was covered by the rug. I’m
counting past sins and contemplating this plague eating me from the inside out. What I know and
what I think I know are in two different cities this morning, different states even. The last time they
chatted was a couple weeks ago. The truth is I don’t know if I like either right now. The truth is,
being here does nothing but remind me of how good it feels to be this close and how horrible it
feels being this close.
I hear breathing in the silence of the room next door. Her door was open like she used have it. At
least, I think she usually had it that way. Either way, if I missed an opportunity, it’s probably for
the best. She stirs in her bed and I think she’s finally waking up. She’s going to be as quiet as she
can be, thinking she may wake me with the slightest noise. I’m pretty sure she doesn’t notice me
yet. It doesn’t matter. At this point, I’ve been counting the bars on the floor for a couple minutes.
They’re up to 9. The bars taunt because they know that even if I wanted to (which part of me
does), I can’t leave. At least I can’t until she wakes up to lock up behind me. She likes to be safe,
clean and secure. That much I know.
Facts. Truths. These are things that I don’t always work with. Re-assurances and lying by
omission are more my way. Not last night. After a number of warm cups of sake, I eased my
tongue and let loose the words of war. Well, the war inside me, at least. There was no mal-intent
and no tears followed. Just a drunken, awkwardness to the conversation. We laughed over the fact
I was screwing myself over thinking of her. We laughed over karma’s sense of justice. In the back
of our words, there was tension left unresolved. I knew not the words that followed. I knew not
the way I was saying them. From that point on, I knew little at all.
I remember part of me wanting to cry to stop the words from coming about. I remember feeling
sick at her honesty and freedom too. I never liked hearing about her other “loves”. Her lovers. Ya,
who really wants to know about that stuff. Especially when vulnerably drunk. I think after a while,
even SHE realized it was a mistake to have me stay. She asked me again what I planned to do. I’m
pretty sure it was a subtle way to say “get out”. She’s too nice to say it outright and I had lied my
way to stay there already. I said I’d stay, begrudgedly. If she wasn’t burning a disk, I would have
left and called it a suffering of a night. I would have called Dave and gone out for more drinks. I
would have eventually gone back to my parents’ house (where I was staying for this vacation). I
would have been better for it. Sure. Sure I would have…..
shouldn’t have but that was me last night. Today, I woke up sober and remembering everything.
The sun was just barely creeping through the blinds making cell bars on the carpet below me. My
fingers are laced, palms down with my forehead resting above that. I lay there thinking obsessively
in my self-made prison. Reality is, that’s all I did last night. 7 hours of closing my eyes, waking up,
staring at the carpet, feeling the crease on my side where the carpet was covered by the rug. I’m
counting past sins and contemplating this plague eating me from the inside out. What I know and
what I think I know are in two different cities this morning, different states even. The last time they
chatted was a couple weeks ago. The truth is I don’t know if I like either right now. The truth is,
being here does nothing but remind me of how good it feels to be this close and how horrible it
feels being this close.
I hear breathing in the silence of the room next door. Her door was open like she used have it. At
least, I think she usually had it that way. Either way, if I missed an opportunity, it’s probably for
the best. She stirs in her bed and I think she’s finally waking up. She’s going to be as quiet as she
can be, thinking she may wake me with the slightest noise. I’m pretty sure she doesn’t notice me
yet. It doesn’t matter. At this point, I’ve been counting the bars on the floor for a couple minutes.
They’re up to 9. The bars taunt because they know that even if I wanted to (which part of me
does), I can’t leave. At least I can’t until she wakes up to lock up behind me. She likes to be safe,
clean and secure. That much I know.
Facts. Truths. These are things that I don’t always work with. Re-assurances and lying by
omission are more my way. Not last night. After a number of warm cups of sake, I eased my
tongue and let loose the words of war. Well, the war inside me, at least. There was no mal-intent
and no tears followed. Just a drunken, awkwardness to the conversation. We laughed over the fact
I was screwing myself over thinking of her. We laughed over karma’s sense of justice. In the back
of our words, there was tension left unresolved. I knew not the words that followed. I knew not
the way I was saying them. From that point on, I knew little at all.
I remember part of me wanting to cry to stop the words from coming about. I remember feeling
sick at her honesty and freedom too. I never liked hearing about her other “loves”. Her lovers. Ya,
who really wants to know about that stuff. Especially when vulnerably drunk. I think after a while,
even SHE realized it was a mistake to have me stay. She asked me again what I planned to do. I’m
pretty sure it was a subtle way to say “get out”. She’s too nice to say it outright and I had lied my
way to stay there already. I said I’d stay, begrudgedly. If she wasn’t burning a disk, I would have
left and called it a suffering of a night. I would have called Dave and gone out for more drinks. I
would have eventually gone back to my parents’ house (where I was staying for this vacation). I
would have been better for it. Sure. Sure I would have…..