Tuesday, June 01, 2010

Sweat

Just in case anyone's panicking that my life seems to be going well, don't worry; everything's absolute atrophying shit.

Most unpleasant is the overwhelming feeling of loneliness and isolation I've now got in my lovely new flat with friends who can't commit to come over.

Another couple however were coming to visit a few days ago, but oh brilliant! - I felt somewhat out of sorts on Friday afternoon, and went home from work only to spend the entire bank holiday weekend either shivering and wrapped up in a duvet, or else sweating like a thieving royal in a newspaper sting. And that's all I've done. I've not left my flat for three days. I haven't even opened the blinds. I've hardly eaten - which means I'm definitely ill. All I've been doing is sleeping, or sweating to Sky Fucking TV, meaning I'm slowly turning into a moron. I knew this was happening when I found myself riveted about a possum stuck down a drain.

I'm basically turning into one of those men that when my neighbours are interviewed by the news once the bodies are discovered, they'll rightly be able to claim, "He was a bit of an odd-ball".

But even without Manflu, my self-esteem over the last few weeks has been pretty dented. In fact, it's been imprisoned in an Austrian cellar by my lack of dignity and raped lots of bad vibes into my flat, and I'm struggling to keep my spirits up.

Again.

Basically, I removed my Indifferent Ex-Girlfriend from Facebook, and have been disappointed to see in the three weeks that have passed that she hasn't noticed, or couldn't care less. Frankly, either scenario really depresses me.

The only time where I felt alive recently was at a brilliant houseparty that was full of beautiful South American women. I talked to several who were good enough not to scream back in terror. By the time I left however, I was informed that one - since gone - was "Desperate for a shag, just at that particular moment, for one night only", and I had allegedly been in her sights. She had breasts and a pulse and everything. More in keeping with my success rate however, I spotted the last girl I'd been talking to in floods of tears by the time I said my goodbyes; probably relief that El Diablo was leaving.

And finally, I went to a barmitzvah which was loads of fun as my sister's going through a messy divorce, forcing me onto 'Brother-In-Law Watch', just in case he went ape-shit crazy or somesuch. I was even asked to be on standby to accost him if need be.
As it turned out, he was fine, but I wound up sweating profusely as I found myself in a room full of people I haven't seen for a good 15 or 20 years and, well, it transpires that I've turned shy. I think this is because I've got fatter, I'm 36 and still single, and I'm paranoid that everyone's judging me and assuming I'm gay. I'm also no great success in the career and general life department, so I had nothing to offer but awkwardness and sweat, forcing myself to be unnaturally polite which was at odds with my default position of offensive drunk.

You think with all this sweating, I'd have really good skin.

Coming up next: My inevitable suicide.

13 comments:

The Nothing Man said...

I guess we'll have to do drinks soon, mate.

McTodd said...

I'll visit you!

Just not this week, I'm bloody busy...

i am not your freud said...

OI! enough with the suicide nonsense. i think you're just not used to living alone and you feel lonelier than usual. you work all day and then you come home and there's no one to socialize with. it's just one of those things that add up to a pile of frustration and after a while it's too much to take. see, you keep seeing yourself as this guy that women run away from screaming and you don't want to believe and accept that women talk to you and have a nice conversation as long as you allow them. you don't even see the people who are interested in you cause you don't want to believe AND accept that anybody would be interested in you, which is ridiculous because you are a funny, attractive and great conversation. if you want to change things, you should work on your self confidence. it's a funny concept, a lot of people who don't have anything to base it on have too much of it and a lot of people who are great don't have much of it. hugs

Huw said...

Yes yes, but they did rescue the possum, right?

Some things:

- Enough ex-girlfriend mind games. Aside from "being a bit Glee", if you are alone, sweating and wanking away a long weekend, it is perhaps a fight you are not currently best positioned to win.

- The South American party is a *good* thing. To me, that says that when you dangle your seemingly unappetising maggot into a lake, there are at least one or two - admittedly starved - fish who will investigate it.

Bye!

McTodd said...

If you do top yourself, can you leave your flat to me?

The Unbearable Banishment said...

Your Thieving Royal was on the Oprah Winfrey show. She kept referring to herself in the third person, which I always find a bit disingenuous (unless you’re a heavyweight boxer).

I was 36 and single and it turned out that everyone WAS judging me and assumed I was gay! No pressure.

jason quinones said...

get a cat.

great company and makes a lonely flat all the more tolerable. but being a single male with a cat, expect the gay assumptions to flood in like new orleans!

but once you've established to the ladies that you're straight and have a cat, you'll be looked upon as kind and sweet and nurturing.

and this'll attract all types of drunken pussy to your humble abode!

jason quinones said...

and enough with the suicide talk already!

if you need a shag that badly, and please forgive me for being blunt but....why not just pay for it?

i've been to london and visited your red light districts...isn't it legal there? or at least very relaxed?

i didn't actually go inside any of the establishments as i went with my wife at the time but we both saw some ladies out and about and they were pretty bold about what was up.

hemingway and bukowski did it! you're just as drunk and depressed as those two!

jason quinones said...

and at your writing chops are up there too!

Z said...

Is this the brother in law who laughed when your mother and stepfather didn't realise you weren't in the car and left without you? I didn't take to him. But it's possible that being warily single has its advantages over being in the unhappy throes of divorce.

A brilliant houseparty, a family do where you didn't get offensively drunk - seems like you're doing fine, Fweng. You know you don't just want a mindless shag and your instincts make you reject a chance at that. It can be that behaving as if you're well-adjusted and happy has to come first, and being so can happen as a result.

I recommend you go and see your mother this weekend. Take her flowers. Make her happy. Say something supportive to your sister, who must be quite as miserable as you are, unless she's having a wild affair of course and that's what's scuppered her marriage in which case better to keep tactfully away. But look after your ma.

Ellie said...

Are you going to sweat yourself to death?

luna said...

Ah no worries, if a south american 's gagging for you trust me, she's not too shy to take the initiative in hand!

@Jason, let's not get carried away and start with a pot of parsley, I fear for the cat's welfare.

fwengebola said...

NM ~ Yes we should. And we did.
McT ~ No problem. I have 'things' 'on' anyway.
IANYF~ Well I'm not going to top myself, but it makes a nice closer.
And thank you for everything else. It all makes sense too, even if I can't fully believe it.
But thank you. You are very kind and I have difficulty accepting compliments.
Huw ~ They got the possum after greasing a rope with banana for it to bite onto. Which didn't work so they just grabbed the fucker.
And thank you for your points. I will endeavour to dangle my maggot more often, and in the direction of some highly pressured and deformed marine life whilst forgetting about my ex.
McT ~ Yes Rog, you can have my flat if I kill myself*
(*This does not constitute a legally binding agreement.)
UB ~ The following day, thieving royal was in our tabloids having appeared on Oprah referring to herself in the third person. Their verdict: Oh goodie, she's having a mental breakdown that we can snigger at.
I appreciate your closing comment. Just embues me with vindication.
Or something.
JQ (x3) ~ I'd love a cat. I'm a cat person. And a dog person. But the flat's small, there's no 'outdoors' as such (think Manhattan loft apt, except small, not trendy, and in a Shire just outside Cunt London)
I can't countenance a hooker. For one thing I'm sorta a feminist (honest), and don't approve of sentient human beings selling their bodies for men to use as surrogate fists. I don't see anything wrong with it per se, but it's like smoking meth. So far, we haven't smoked meth. But as soon as you do, you're a meth-head.
Or something.
Although I love the Hemingway/ Bukowski comparison. Superb.
Z ~ Yes, that's the chap. Any failings on my part gave him particular pleasure. Your points are right, if slightly positive and scary.
I didn't see my Mother though, and now I feel guilty. I may do it tomorrow. I say 'may', but I'm anticipating being hungover and really moody.
Ellie ~ It's not intentional. Sweating myself thinner though, that would be nice.
Lune ~ Yes, south Americans are rather rambunctious. Bless them all. (Not the men.)