Something to write home about

This weekend that is going by has been rather strange, and has left me with a feeling that makes me want to believe a little more in the role that positions of stars in the sky play in my life. Actually, I am not too sure what I feel. So here is what happened.

Memory losses are not cool. After my adventure a couple of months ago where I spent 5 hours traveling in the London underground network, I did a sort of repeat performance. Only, this one was a bit worse. We were at this party on Friday night, and I remember having a pretty good time till about 4:00am. After that, I am not quite sure about what kind of a time I had, because I don't remember any of it. My good friend who was by my side all this time tells me that at about 4:30am, I had called a cab for a couple of girls, helped another drunk girl leave, and taken 20 minutes to roll a huge joint, and just given it to him to smoke while I vanished somewhere. So he and me left at 5:30 or so, and after walking around for another half hour, he got a a call on his phone, and when he hung up 2 minutes later, I had vanished. I had "done a Batman", as he calls it. He called me, and I told him he had been walking in the wrong direction, and that I had no idea where I myself was at the moment, and that I will figure it out later.

So he went his way, I went somewhere, I have no idea where. This is close to 6:00am. At 10:16am, I awoke on the DLR, the only tube line that runs to my stop. But of course, I was on a station completely outside my route. Everything was looking so damn hazy, and then I realised at some point that my glasses were absent from their usual place on my face. There is also a memory somewhere of a stumble climbing up a flight of steps, which later revealed itself in the form of a nasty bruise on my left knee, and a less nasty but infinitely more visible one just above my left eyebrow. But there isn't much more I recall, other than finally crawling into bed around 11:30am.

So I hurt myself and lost my glasses and a few hours worth of memory. I hoped the glasses had been left at the party venue, so I called the host and asked him to look out. He called a while later saying my glasses were safe on his kitchen table. I dragged my weary body back to his place around 7:00pm, only to discover that the glasses in question are in fact not mine, but some other jerk's. Very possible he left his and took mine, very possible that he left his and I lost mine. So anyway, I go to another friend's house, the same one who I had inexplicably deserted in the wee hours of the morning. We eat dinner and are in the middle of watching Sweeney Todd when another friend calls, at about 2:00am.

We are to meet him at the bus stop in 10 minutes, and the 3 of us are to go to the house of a 4th who is asleep and will have to be woken up so that we can have a place to chill. Anyway, 3 of us are at the stop, right outside Victoria station, waiting for the bus. There is a nightclub 50m away and a drunkard is thrown out by the bouncers. The usual screaming and empty threats follow, while the drunkard's friends are pissed off with him and are walking away. We had stopped enjoying the show and were chatting among ourselves, smoking our cigarettes. The drunkard was now walking away from the bouncers, walking in the same direction as his friends, who had just walked by us. He was screaming "I win, I win" and it was coming nearer, so I turned my face to look in his direction.

He was less than 2ft away, his arm already raised, fist closed in a punch, already moving towards my face. And sure enough, it made contact, hit me hard, fucking hard, on the left of my face. And he made a run for it. After a 2-second shock recovery time, I began running after him but was stopped by my friends one of who proceeded to tell me that catching that arsehole and beating the crap out of him was not worth the effort. If only the 4th friend, the one whose house we were going to, had been there, things would have been nicely different. We would have probably killed that fucker.

On Friday, as I was leaving work, my boss told me to not party too hard, and I had said "why not?" in response and left. On Saturday evening, I had been talking of drunken rowdiness being a nuisance in this country, and there it was. Just an hour before going to the bus stop, at the beginning of Sweeney Todd, I was extolling the virtue of vengeance, and I did jack-shit. But one thing is for sure, I am sick and fucking tired of this whole memory black-out business. And I am pissed off, so fucking pissed off. Life is not a fucking bed of roses anyway, and I really can do without the random fucking punch from some drunk white trash piece of shit. Maybe I should start carrying that knife...