So after an amazing week, here I am again, worn out from a field trip that took me over 500 kms and 18 hours to complete. Work has piled on afresh like the scores of unread messages in my mailbox which silently snuck in while I was away. The scales do balance. At least for this one-twelfth.
So another trip around the sun begins, to the sound of DMB, Hendrix, Zeppelin, Dire Straits, Mamas and Papas, Coldplay, Akon, Audioslave, and a whole host of artists and dreamers, not to mention the company of a few good men (and women), and the call of the muezzin.
It's my third straight day of alcohol and man what a weekend it has been. Vista came and went in the background, a few lectures were attended, a performance in suits during dinner at the place where our future is decided - at least the short term, a night-out with people from the B.C. (un)ltd and one of those good men mentioned, followed by a search for a good breakfast which consisted of scrambled eggs, mutton cutlets and bacon.
People extend their regards, through their feet, through flinging buckets of water (and other things) and raw eggs and cakes, through phone calls, through the information superhighway from miles away. The Dreamy One wishes me and I thank her profusely with a smile to myself.
If life can get any better than this, it will have to traverse the space between.
Yes; I agree with the Dreamy One. And more so. It is alright to let some nights slip into the mornings; to watch the sun and the birds rise and greet the day with them, lost in alcohol and a sea of drunken stupor. It is not wrong to empty your room so that the guests can have more space to dance, even though that would mean a lot of cleaning up in the morning. It is a part of life to, once in a while, wake up in the morning/afternoon and wonder where the fuck your stuff has gone and whose shoes, cell phone, drinks, food, is lying in your room. It is acceptable to live in a pigsty, once in a while, because with revelry comes a price - that of the hangover the next day and the work piled up by a night which turns into a morning listening to all those songs you thought would never come back to haunt you. To wish for someone to be there yet know that it's all going to be ok. To have absolutely no idea how you are going to take up all the mundane tasks that the new day throws at you. I think, in the long run, and all things considered, that life should be lived. Not gone through, not worked through with its countless trivialities and responsibilities stuffed down your throat. That's why it's called living.