So the best thing about BA is its nightlife, therefore I reassure myself that I am seeing the best of BA by getting out of bed when it’s dark. It reminds me of Madrid. I never saw that city by day either, I just ate around 10pm, then partied all night. I’m slipping back into that mode and I don’t really like it. I’ve promised myself that when I get to Cambodia I’m going to give everything up and get back into the gym, working at a hostel and getting a healthy life back. I was in the best shape of my life just before mum passed, and now I look like I’ve eaten twenty donuts a day for 6 months, smoked myself to lung cancer and drank vats of booze to rot my liver into a puddle of vomitus pus. That’s because I have. Apart from the donuts. There’s time yet.
I’ve gradually been working my way into the affections of the three girls in my room and I’m slowly becoming a “ledge”. Lucky me. They’re not a bad bunch to be fair and perhaps I was a bit swift with yesterdays damning judgement, but I still cannot abide the butchering of the beautiful English language. “It’s like, so not coolio you knowwww?”
I wonder if my current mood is as a result of my imminent return home? Perhaps ‘home’ is the wrong word, since I don’t actually have one. I’ve got a funny feeling I’m going to go off the rails in these next few days. You will perhaps, dear reader, forgive a repetitive streak of bars and clubs in the coming weekend. “I’ve come to BA for one reason and one reason only” boasted I; “to party”. In hindsight I couldn’t possibly have sounded more of a tit.
Not tonight however, for tonight I attempt to drink half a beer, smoke half a cigarette, nearly cough and splutter my eyes out, then return sharply to bed. There I remain awake until the girls return, squawking, giggling and gibbering their drunken glee at various conquests during the evening, and delight at one getting their nipples sucked. If you’ve got it, flaunt it I suppose.
Round and round
So the best thing about BA is its nightlife, therefore I reassure myself that I am seeing the best of BA by getting out of bed when it’s dark. It reminds me of Madrid. I never saw that city by day either, I just ate around 10pm, then partied all night. I’m slipping back into that mode and I don’t really like it. I’ve promised myself that when I get to Cambodia I’m going to give everything up and get back into the gym, working at a hostel and getting a healthy life back. I was in the best shape of my life just before mum passed, and now I look like I’ve eaten twenty donuts a day for 6 months, smoked myself to lung cancer and drank vats of booze to rot my liver into a puddle of vomitus pus. That’s because I have. Apart from the donuts. There’s time yet.
I’ve gradually been working my way into the affections of the three girls in my room and I’m slowly becoming a “ledge”. Lucky me. They’re not a bad bunch to be fair and perhaps I was a bit swift with yesterdays damning judgement, but I still cannot abide the butchering of the beautiful English language. “It’s like, so not coolio you knowwww?”
I wonder if my current mood is as a result of my imminent return home? Perhaps ‘home’ is the wrong word, since I don’t actually have one. I’ve got a funny feeling I’m going to go off the rails in these next few days. You will perhaps, dear reader, forgive a repetitive streak of bars and clubs in the coming weekend. “I’ve come to BA for one reason and one reason only” boasted I; “to party”. In hindsight I couldn’t possibly have sounded more of a tit.
Not tonight however, for tonight I attempt to drink half a beer, smoke half a cigarette, nearly cough and splutter my eyes out, then return sharply to bed. There I remain awake until the girls return, squawking, giggling and gibbering their drunken glee at various conquests during the evening, and delight at one getting their nipples sucked. If you’ve got it, flaunt it I suppose.