I started my weekend screaming into the petrified face of a young man, one of my hands pinning his body to a wall, the other prodding sharply into his chest, while my mouth formed words pertaining to violence. Within four days, I had realised just how badly I had broken a girl's heart, completely ruined any chance of a reconciliation (and a long weekend in New York), and have now picked up a fucking cold.
That would be Karma then.
Thursday night. I had spent two consecutive days punching thin air at my Martial Arts classes and sweating like a sober High Court Judge amid the general populace. By the time I went to bed that second night, my body was like lead. So I didn't much appreciate being roused at 5:30am to the sound of Tsch-Tsch-Tsch-Tsch-Tsch-Tsch BOOM BOOM BOOM BOOM BOOM etc.
Fortunately for my neighbour, I was too tired to move, let alone get dressed to walk next door and pick a fight so I stayed put, prone, too tired to do anything but get angry.
I called his landlord for the fifty-eighth time and left a drowsy message saying that his tenant was up to his old tricks again, and DO SOMETHING. And then, after half an hour, I passed out. When I woke up, I found myself too tired to cycle to work so I composed a letter for my neighbour ('IF YOU WAKE ME UP ONE MORE TIME, I WILL THROW YOUR STEREO OUT THE FUCKING WINDOW') and walked off to stick it to his door prior to getting the tube.
The front door was off the hinges as per usual, so I walked up to the top flat. The door wasn't locked so I walked right in to the communual hallway and up to his bedroom door where I noticed it open. So I knocked.
A stoned French youth, somewhat displeased that someone had woken him up, looked at me with confusion.
'Morning, mate', I said cheerily, as I punched the note onto his chest and walked off.
'What is zis?' he said, following me to the doorway. I snapped, grabbed him by the arm and pushed him against the wall, where I began jabbing him with my index finger to emphasize certain words.
'This is a fucking letter telling you to STOP PLAYING MUSIC AT FIVE THIRTY IN THE MORNING'.
'Five zirty? Really?'
'Uh, yeah, Five-Thirty,' I said, mimicking his faux-disbelief, then breaking character to pull him noze-to-noze with me and hiss 'I would be cycling to work today but instead I'm too tired and I have to get the tube. YOU - ARE - MAKING - ME - CHANGE - MY - LIFE.'
And with that, I threw him back into his flat and shut his door in case he did anything stupid like talk back. I then huffed downstairs where the lady who runs the newsagent on street level - yet to open - had been listening from her landing.
'If he wakes you up again,' I told her, 'let me know'.
And then I stormed off on my journey to work so lost in dark thoughts and so angry with myself for threatening some kid that I forgot to wear my iPod.
I went on to spend that weekend doing very little. Besides, I wanted to save my money for New York as I was planning to visit my on/off American girlfriend.
On/Off American girlfriend and I had a little emailing session today. For the last week or so, I've been trying to get a suitable date to fly over but she's not just provided me with zero dates, she's also barely been in touch. Until today.
When, in a nutshell, I was sent an email: 'Fuck You'.
It appears that she's gone through all the emotions of being dumped by me and is now firmly in Hate. She mentioned that I only like her now that I can't have her, and if I really wanted to see her that badly, all I'd ever had to do was get on a plane, but now I can't do that because I'm too Chicken.
Plus I'd have to spring for a hotel instead of her free bed. But she's a romantic and sees me crippling myself finacially as somehow cute and endearing. So, I could go to New York anyway but the chances are I'd discover she really does hate me and that's too much for me to take.
Or I could just wander about aimlessly while I come to terms with the fact that I've burnt all my bridges with her and my right hand will be forevermore a stranger to anyone else's sexual organs barring my own all too familiar member. She was the closest I've ever come to a perfect girlfriend, except for the living 4,000 miles apart (Ideal, for some men).
And now I have a cold. I would like the day off work tomorrow but I'd feel too guilty not going in.
Bollocks and Dammits.
If I don't have a shag with someone by my 33rd birthday, I will have to start considering other Mammals.