Own Worst Enemy

One of the worst aspects of my job is that I have to go out a lot. I have to go to clubs. This should be a bonus, and indeed it is, but goddamnit it gets hard. I was aiming for a quiet weekend and some friends sent out an invite to a new night they are putting on with free booze and how can you say no to that? I mean, I can say no, and sometimes I do say no, but mostly I say yes to offers like that. Going out clubbing on a Friday night sets the tone for the rest of the weekend. I was in a good mood on Friday and I drank way too much and my mood got even better and I drank more and then it was the next day. I needed to do some work on a feature I am writing for a glossy, but I was too hungover. I also had to edit a short story for an ezine but refer to the previous line. Stayed in on Saturday night, worked on both stories for a couple of hours on Sunday, then went for a boozy lunch. I sometimes think that I was put on this planet for Sunday boozy lunches.

Looking around at all the other boozy diners, I was struck by how corpulent most of them were. My girlfriend and I somehow manage to stay in good shape in spite of our bad habits. I think it must be the amphetamines and dancing. Looking around at the corpulent diners with their bulbous noses, I thought to myself, I walk in your world, but I am not of you. I felt rather smug.

After lunch, my girlfriend and I carried our enviable thinness and stunning good looks up the road to a psytrance party. Dangerous stuff, bookending the weekend with clubs. It was early evening by the time we arrived, numbers were way down because there had already been two psytrance events that weekend and there is a three day festival next week. I was afflicted with more ridiculously good mood. I talked a lot. I flirted with the bar chick, who started that off by flirting with me. I gave a DJ and producer my card, because it is in my job description to do such things. (This is the self-perpetuating nature of the destructive side of my job - he will be in touch to put me on the guest list at his next party and I will feel obliged to go). I acted very silly and had a lot of fun and, as is alsways the case, I have this lingering feeling that I made a twat of myself, which I am reasonably sure I didn't do.

I spent the day in the shop with this lingering feeling of twattiness, thinking that I really should grow up and get my shit sorted. I re-wrote the short story and have sent that off when I should have done the feature because I am giving the short story away whereas the feature is a paid job.

And all of that is the reason I am my own worst enemy.