Ir-responsibility and the wisdom of teeth

I had an interview for a job the other day, on a Sunday afternoon, to be precise, which I had chosen as my preferred day since I am working on Mondays, which was my other option. So I decide to not go out on Saturday night, started drinking and smoking weed at about 5pm on Saturday, went out at about 9:30pm to get to another house to consume more weed and whisky, and play some first-person shooter game on the xBox 360. My plan, as also that of others present, was to leave at 2am. At about 3am, I remember being asked what I was going to do about my interview the following day, to which I had confidently replied that I will enjoy myself till 6am and then go home and then get to my interview on time. Sure enough, I left the house at about 6am with 2 others, or so I am told. When we got to their destination, I was asked to crash at their's since I was apparently in no state to even walk, or so I am told. I told them I had done this hundreds of times and that I would be fine, or so I am told. They went on their way, and me on mine.

So I come to my senses at about 11:30am, in the London Underground, headed to I-didn't-have-a-fucking-clue-where. I stepped out on to the streets and discovered myself in a far flung area in the north-west (I was in south-west at night, central in the morning, and headed east where I live) with less than 2 hours for my interview. I was still significantly high and had a blast trying to make my way to the venue for the interview. I got there in time, intoxicated, shit-faced, smelling like a combination of a a brewery and a chimney stack. Of course, I must not forget to mention the t-shirt I was wearing from the previous night, which told the world that "Cartman's mom is a dirty slut". I don't quite remember some of the interview, and what I do remember mostly involves me struggling to put together my thoughts in a linear coherent string of words. And yes, the look of shock on the interviewer's face. Later, he told me that the only reason he actually interviewed me in spite of my appearance, etc was only because he was also an Indian and therefore had a "soft spot" for his fellow countrymen.

All the same, I cleared the interview. Yes, I am truly a genius, what to do? I dazzled him with my brilliance even in the state of mind (and clothing etc) that I have just described. But I don't remember feeling so... disappointed, shall we say, with myself ever. I mean, getting wasted the night before an important event is no big deal, but fucking up the event as a consequence of it certainly is. Especially in a scenario like this where I am presently doing a shit job (call centre in the garb of market research, a shameful sordid story to tell my grandchildren and girlfriends that I don't have) and am looking for other better ones (though I still maintain that all jobs suck, its just the degrees that differ) and this was one that specifically was looking to recruit an anthropologist (the first job ad I saw of this kind... and also, I am not exactly sure if I am actually an anthropologist). Anyway, I am not keen about this job anymore for other reasons. But the point is, I have rarely handled myself with such profound irresponsibility. Made me think about how fucking lazy I have allowed myself to become, and it made me physically sick enough to prevent me from going to work on Monday.

All day today, I have been cringing in pain, and those who know me better know that I don't feel pain easily (there are historical reasons for it, but let's leave that story for another day). Fucking wisdom teeth shit. But it is rather strange, I must say, since the last time I had this feeling was about 7-8 years ago. Rather long gap for those goddamned molars to act up again. Mayhap I gave them reason to... but that doesn't make the fucking pain any better. I considered smoking a little weed to numb the pain, but after Sunday, I had decided to not smoke any at least till Friday evening. So I haven't, and am trying to grin and bear it, though grinning is a problem. Oh yes, there is the concept of analgesics, and I am aware of it. But I need something in the belly before I throw in the pill, and I have rarely waited for a meal like I am right now!

So before I go to try and hurry up my dinner, I will leave you with another poem I wrote almost 5 years ago. Its called "showtime". Enjoy!

logarithmic equations that confuse
chemicals that react mysteriously
the paparazzi on question paper
it hangs on the edge perilously

worries float up in smoke
youth took care of the rest
do i have to come of age?
i know i will pass the test

myriad pathways of my life
just as many ways to end it
i know i will get my kicks
even through all the shit

time is banging on the door
the hinges come off loose
the whirlwind blew in a mess
and left me hanging by a noose

gotta make it last forever
i am gonna queer the pitch
does it have to move so fast?
life, aint it a bitch?