The can’t cannot club

Gather in an enclosed space to spend money on overpriced depressants so you don’t feel like yourself and so can talk to people you’d normally ignore on the street.

I danced a bit last night, mainly to oldish music. Dancefloor was empty bar us. Went for it, had fun. The rest of it? Nah. Not feeling it.

Sit in a dark corner, sip slowly, watch them doing the same shit you’ve been watching them do since you were 15 and started going to these places. Almost half my life sat in that corner – the locations change, but it’s always the same corner.

Bored of it. No joy in it. No other reason to go out beyond the music, and the music is shit everywhere in this town.

Of course there are other reasons to go out, but do they apply to me? Nah. “Why didn’t you just talk to her?” Seems a simple question. Seems a stupid question to me.

Can’t do it. Can’t talk. Can’t think. Can’t can’t can’t.

Can’t isn’t a word.

Cannot.

It’s not a sudden realisation. It’s not a sudden turnaround in my mood. It’s the same shit I’ve been (not) doing since I was 15 and started going to these places. Almost half my life can’t cannoting – the locations change, but I’m always can’t cannoting.

Whatever, on that count.

But I do wish somewhere would play music I actually liked around here. Don’t want to feel so much like I have to move home base just to get somewhere decent to sit in a dark corner can’t cannoting.

First person to attempt a “chin up” pep talk is first recipient of a brutal smackdown.

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