Drunk
Every blog needs at least one post written drunk. So here is. After 70 euro of alcohol and a lot of hits of the back space key.
Oblomov, I promised you a Finland Forum post about moving to Helsinki as a lesbian without a job and about lesbian for foreigners, about needing a Kela card to be a lesbian etc etc but now there is a homophobic rant on the board and it doesn't seem appropriate.
Anyway the sun was setting when we left, and it rose as we got the bus home. I called America and to my joy they were awake and telling me "get out of that country". And only the girl from Peru knows why.
I stared hard at the sliver of the moon, bit my lip till it bled so I thought "yes it doesn't matter all these maybe lies and maybe games."
I am doing okay, have not cried, have not got sad, only danced to bad bad songs I danced to the first time they were in the charts.
"I am an angel!" I thought as the moon got closer, my lip more red, my voice an echo of the Dublin girl's accent I had heard all night, equally empty and wet eyed as mine.
But no "I'm not", the hard Australian replied, peppered with realism and sarcasm and other stern words ending in -m. "I am a spud." And only two of us knew the significance of those words.
Oblomov, I promised you a Finland Forum post about moving to Helsinki as a lesbian without a job and about lesbian for foreigners, about needing a Kela card to be a lesbian etc etc but now there is a homophobic rant on the board and it doesn't seem appropriate.
Anyway the sun was setting when we left, and it rose as we got the bus home. I called America and to my joy they were awake and telling me "get out of that country". And only the girl from Peru knows why.
I stared hard at the sliver of the moon, bit my lip till it bled so I thought "yes it doesn't matter all these maybe lies and maybe games."
I am doing okay, have not cried, have not got sad, only danced to bad bad songs I danced to the first time they were in the charts.
"I am an angel!" I thought as the moon got closer, my lip more red, my voice an echo of the Dublin girl's accent I had heard all night, equally empty and wet eyed as mine.
But no "I'm not", the hard Australian replied, peppered with realism and sarcasm and other stern words ending in -m. "I am a spud." And only two of us knew the significance of those words.
posted by Rowena at 3:03 am
1 comments
1 Comments:
A drunken lesbian spud in need of urgent lip attention, wandering the streets of Helsinki in the early hours of the morn, singing the songs she had danced badly to all night whilst trying to be deep and meaningful, but only coming across as just a little bit drunk.
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