That is all of life, isn't it? A mindless motion of limbs, a blocking out of the unsavoury thoughts that contain the slightest suggestion of the numbing boredom of one's life, a Pavlovian response to external stimulants inherent in one's upbringing. That is essentially all of life. But some of us try to break out of it. And I would like to think that I am on my way to succeeding.
It's not just life, of course. Clubbing is senseless fun for its own sake, and after a while, I turned off my mind, too, and tried to think about nothing. The music became better after some drinks and after some time, only really taking off at 3am when DJ Heidi came on. Unfortunately, Sixuan and I are a couple of old maids, and we left at 3.30am when we were both quite tired.
There were a few interesting things about last night. First, before clubbing, I was really annoyed at G for the usual reason: his failure to respond to my text message in a commonly accepted time frame. Considering the message that I sent asked if he'd landed in SF, I really couldn't make an excuse for his failure to say either yes or no. Ergo, I was annoyed, I was even kind of sad; and yet, save for this one guy with a man bun who looked Asian in the dark and who looked like he was quite fit, not a single cell in my body was inclined towards any of the shit that I did when I was partying in London 3 years ago. The dancing with a random guy, then making out, then resisting when he wants to come home with me or take me home - this did not appeal to me at all, not even in the context of the Vaguely Asian Guy. (This guy was near me and I could sort of tell he was interested but I couldn't really be fucked; then when I felt like I could kind of be bothered, I couldn't find him anymore.) Perhaps this was partly due to how I felt really tall when I looked across the dancefloor; for some reason, most of the males there were around my height which was obviously quite unappealing. Still: there were plenty of opportunities. Guys in clubs are generally desperate and undiscerning, and so I could've created opportunities if I had wanted to.
But I didn't, and I didn't want to at all, not even as I found myself thinking about G and how he constantly sends me on these emotional rollercoaster rides and how, in my mind, he didn't like me enough to, well, to try, whatever that means. Before going clubbing, when I was on the train to London, even before realising that G had seen my message but not replied, I was thinking maybe dancing (et cetera) with a strange man who found me attractive would take away some of the angst; but when I was actually in the club, I really didn't want to do any of those things at all. I suppose I really have flushed all that reckless partying out of my system, because I honestly find it really dodgy now. It is beneath me. I deserve better than a random encounter with some dude who probably can't even speak proper English; and I think the point is that my confidence has grown to a level where I don't need such crap to boost it because I am better than that.
Besides, for some reason, the person that I had on my mind most of the time wasn't G or anyone that I'd talked to over the past couple of years; it was my first ever casual encounter which I thought was a one night stand but which turned out not to be. I had flashbacks of going with him and a couple of his friends to Egg in Kings Cross after O2 Angel closed at 3.30am, accepting a couple of drinks from him, then facing him while he had his back against a pillar, and moving my hips in a trance, almost touching but not quite, and so close that I could smell him. My physical attraction to this man was almost at 100%, if not totally at 100%. He was not smart, he was not my type, and although we could kind of talk about nothing, it was purely physical for me. That night was so wrong, but it was still one of the best nights of my crazy partying days in London. And that was what I thought about in Fabric: the electricity, how I really wanted him, the tantalising closeness.
The point, then, isn't just any random guy; the point is a really hot guy, a specific person, and in my alcoholic-induced hazy thinking, I almost thought I wanted to text this person again and get back in touch. But then I think, what's the point? I could text him and say hi, I'm back in the UK, but it's been so long since I last spoke to him (I can remember when I last saw him - just before I left London for The Hague) that it would be almost pointless to get back in touch. Also, I wouldn't want him to think that I still want something from him, because I don't anymore. While I think he will always be one of the hottest men I've ever met in my life (and I'm not even kidding about this), I'm just not in the business of that kind of thing anymore. I'm over it.
A guy in a hoodie with 'New York' emblazoned across the chest came up to me, told me that I was beautiful and offered to buy me a drink. For me, personally, anyone that wears a hoodie in a club isn't really worth my time, let alone a hoodie that says 'New York'. When I politely said thanks but no, Sixuan remarked that I should have asked if he was from New York. Later, a really friendly English girl engaged Sixuan in a shouting conversation. She shouted something in my ear about Berlin but I couldn't hear half of it, and so I was very impressed that Sixuan managed to have an actual conversation with her.
All in all, even though the drinks were ridiculously expensive and diluted, and even though there was a minimum 15 quid requirement for card payment (who carries cash to a club?), it was a fun night. I had a good time and I hope she did too. We have vague plans to go partying in Berlin in the summer. Haha! That would be something for sure.
We got back and I checked my phone, and I saw a slew of messages from G. He did it again. He pissed me off by not replying, then wormed his way back into my good graces by spamming my phone with messages. Most of it was in relation to a question I asked him about this passage in an article about Greek nation-building.
I was tired, I was a bit tipsy, and I was high, and so I texted him for almost half an hour (half this time was in the toilet when I was trying to get ready to take a shower). Because I was a bit tipsy, I said things that I normally wouldn't say. I told him that I was in London and I was at a friend's place and we just got back; and he said, 'Good friend I presume. :D' It was a lame attempt at a lame sexual joke. I texted back, '... I thought you were getting jealous.'
His response was entirely unexpected. 'I try to keep my emotions under control,' he said. 'After all if you want to do something like that it would be totally up to you.'
'You have emotions?' After a couple of seconds, on a whim: 'But you know how I feel about you.'
I tried to ascertain what he meant by 'something like that' but he was evasive, didn't answer my question, changed the subject. All right, I can take a hint. Then he made a comment about suicide rates in Japan and Korea which he meant in a clinical way, but it came off wrong. 'I am a dick,' he said.
'True,' I replied. 'Can't dispute that.'
'Hehe yes when you ignore my messages. Otherwise you're great.'
'No. Here is what happens. I get your message. I start thinking about it. And then forget to reply.'
I was smiling as I typed, 'You're so bad.'
'I am really sorry. I am [so bad].'
'Haha it's ok. I am too forgiving. But it's ok.'
'You are an angel. And I am a dick.'
Ah, that is not untrue. To quote The Cardigans once more because I've been listening to Long Gone Before Daylight non-stop, 'And I hold a record for being patient with your kind of hesitation.'
He wasn't really supposed to say that, though. By 'that' I mean it would be up to me to do 'something like that', presumably to sleep with someone or to date someone. I almost want to say, Don't keep your feelings under control. I almost want to tell him, Don't tell me that it would be up to me to date someone else.
Tell me, in fact, that you want me. You know how I feel about you. You know that I would if you wanted it. I would, that is, have eyes for you and only you. Even now, despite everything - 'everything' being a catch-all for recent events, both in relation to you and regardless of you - you are still all that I want.
Don't tell me, then, that it would be up to me to date someone else, because you do funny things to my heart that no one else does. My feelings for you are visceral as much as they are intellectual. You set my heart in motion in a way that makes complete sense and no sense all at once. I don't want you to be respectful of my boundaries; I don't want there to be any boundaries between us. I don't want you to be fair to me, to logically conclude that it would be up to me to see other people because we are not in a relationship. I want to know that it would bother you, I want you to tell me not to. I want you to want me.
Oh, the things you do to me: the shit you put me through, the joy you give to me, the special way you make me smile. If only you knew.
Lastly: London bathed in sunlight warmed up the low temperatures. The view of the Thames underneath a cheery blue sky, with the Tower of London sandwiched incongruously between modern buildings, made me forget, momentarily, about the brittle cold.
London, baby, you bring gladness to my heart.