I came perilously close to plunging into the abyss last night. I was taking a walk to The Edge, as has often happened, but there was something different about it. Normally I watch my step. I take my time. I pay attention. I care.
But not last night. Last night it left me. I was reckless, and while I didn’t completely fall in, I think I at least got a bit of sand in my shoe. That was enough for me. That was enough to encourage a crazed reaction. An angry, uncaring man was born; disappointed with those he saw as wasting his time by being in his way, annoyed at the seriousness with which they take things like dancing – dancing, for fuck’s sake – and utterly, seriously, genuinely just fucking angry.
But it wasn’t a full plunge. I haven’t taken up residency in a new area after having fallen off The Edge. No, like I said – it was merely a stumble. It was a period of time, not a total change of personality. For an hour or so I no longer walked – I strutted. I no longer danced – I flailed. I opted out of politeness – I demanded the idiots move.
For a brief moment – for the blink of an eye – I just didn’t care anymore. I had a taste of what it would be like.. what it is like for those who couldn’t keep themselves away from The Edge. And it didn’t taste all that bad.
Will I go back there? I have no idea. It’s not a choice – it just happens. You just find yourself there. You turn a corner in your mind and it’s just there, in front of you. And once it’s in front of you, it’s going to dominate you until you can finally get away from it. So it’s not my choice if I go back.
But if I do end up back there, you know what? It probably wouldn’t be all that bad. Whipping strangers in the face with a shirt because they wouldn’t just get out of the fucking way suits me, I feel.
This blog courtesy of too little sleep, too much booze yesterday and not enough reading of HST.