Something changed

I awake, 9am. The mouth is dry, the head is pounding, but there’s something different. What is it?

Is it the bed? No, it’s still uncomfortable. The pillows are still never right. I still have to sleep at an angle to fit on the thing.

Is it the hangover? No, I recognise this. Had this before. Even the Crunk Juice hasn’t made much difference beyond lowering my self esteem more than it already was. Mainly because I drank Crunk Juice.

Is it the time? 9am is too early on a Sunday. No, because I’ll take the last two painkillers and go back to sleep with a glass of water next to the bed.

Have I forgotten something? Probably, but nothing important. I didn’t lose anything last night. I have nothing to be embarrassed about. I didn’t even talk to the taxi driver so it won’t be like that time I told one he should come out with us next time.

The laptop’s still on! That must be it! No.. no. I did that on purpose, as I’m “definitely legally” downloading something. For science.

What could it be? The thinking is hurting my head more than it should. I waddle through the flat. It’s cold. Piss. Painkillers. Water. Back to bed. Diagonal, so I fit. Sleep. It takes a while, but the warm embrace of unconsciousness wins out.

I awake, 2pm. The mouth is dry, the head pounds less, but there’s still something different. What is it?

He’s not here.

There’s no booming music. There’s no loud swearing at nothing. There’s no leaving the tap running for no reason for 10 minutes solid. There’s no horrid cough. There’s no inane conversations with clearly uncomfortable housemates.

There’s no slamming doors.

There’s no slamming doors.

There’s no slamming doors.

He’s gone. That’s it! He’s gone! The disbelief hits me in waves. What is this? Am I happy? Is this happiness? I like happiness. Happiness makes me feel like there’s a point to things. I could get used to happiness. I could run with happiness, take it the places I’ve always wanted  to go to help me be the person I’ve always wanted to be. I am fucking invincible. INVINCI…

What’s that noise? A van? A van door slamming? The front door slamming? His door slamming?

Oh. He’s not moved all of his stuff out yet SLAM. I’m sure SLAM it’ll be bearSLAMable though. He’s SLAM only SLAM got SLAM to SLAM grab SLAM a SLAM few SLAM more SLAM things SLAM, tidy SLAM up SLAM then SLAM leave SLAM forever SLAM. Then things will be better.

SLAM.

Different, but better.

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