I have now done the washing up. I suppose if I'm going to tell you about the brandy I found in the kitchen I should also tell you about the weed I have been smoking for about the last four days. oops. It does lay the foundations of the ideal way to leave this house - by staying up through the night on a 'cocktail of drugs' stumbling about only to emerge somehow victorious in the morning. The thought of failure is impossible - nights last forever and on some level I feel I'd be failing myself if I didn't stay up all the way until tomorrow...
This night is an all nighter. Part moving house, part putting things in boxes, part viking funeral, part ordeal by fire, re-birth, part fighting demons, part one-man leaving party. Going out in a stumble of glory.
The reason this is fitting? Moving coincides with a lot of changes, some made and some not yet made but planned. Mainly the reason it is fitting is because of the sheer vast amount of weed smoked and sleep lost in the flat. This is not a boast, or an indication of constant partying, this is long-term, problematic reliance on smoking. It's time to stop, but not tonight, one more night of breaking the rules in a childish kind of way, then off. Weed has been a big part of my life, good or bad, but enough's enough. Of course opium for breakfast stays, you get that William Burroughs fizz that sets you up for the whole day.
