The party’s over

A couple of days ago, I returned from a rather pleasant holiday spent with my favourite girl in the world, MJ. She’s very much in demand, that one, but time spent with her is nothing short of blissful. When I’m with her, all my rage subsides and the joy of music is so much more intense. I get up and dance to my MP3s and my dreams, all those hopes I’ve harboured over the years, appear to be within my grasp. MJ tells me what I want to hear, puts a spring in my step, and shows me that life is more comedy than tragedy.

She’s gone now. For all I know, she may never return to put a smile on my face and soothe the ache that burns within me. I knew this day would come; she gave me ample warning. All the same, that prior knowledge does not take away the sting of this cold, hard reality. I came crashing back to earth on Friday and those all-too-familiar feelings of anger, frustration and loneliness seeped back in. All I have at my disposal is temporary relief from all this negativity: a run in the park, a glass of wine, a video game, a comedy show on TV. They buy me time, but don’t tackle the root causes. I’ve been singing this song since I was a teenager and frankly, I’m sick of it. I wish there were an end. I have to be there for my family, but this makes me resent them at times. Why must they rely on me, when I can barely look after myself? I hate this town and the unworthy proles who infest it. Looks like it’ll be yet another sleepless night.


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