It was getting to be more of a mess. I’d seen nothing of the city. I met with old friends, made new ones, went to the same bar to watch the world cup, and generally out-stayed my welcome. Driving a girls Jaguar down winding mountain roads while getting a blow job was definitely a new experience. Smashing back white wine as soon as I woke up not so much. Assuming someone I care about is seeing someone else was deeply upsetting. Discovering I’d had two bottles of cologne, a 50 US bill, 10 GBP, 5 Canadian and my hair straighteners (yes deal with it) stolen back in Bucharest was a low point. Including the 10 pound Scottish note with the message “I hope you find your way back home one day” written on the back. To cap it all, the bag they used to stash all this stuff also contained my night guard that protected my teeth from grinding while I slept. That shit was expensive. My teeth are shit anyway.
The amount of stuff I’ve had stolen from me since traveling is now astounding. But 90% of that had something to do with me being drunk. Most of my recent trauma has had something to do with being drunk. Not dealing with my parents deaths resulted in being a drunk. Telling the same stories over and over again to gain a validation of strangers to replace their love…while being drunk. A coping mechanism for losing a girl? Get fucking drunk. I was drinking before I’d eaten. Down to one meal a day if that, replaced by at least two packs of Marlboro Gold. Enough was enough.
It was finally time for the horse ranch. For the good of my wallet, psyche, soul and health. It was time to go cold turkey on booze, smokes, internet, drugs and girls. It was time to go dark. It was time to disappear.
Sofia, old friends, theft and drink
It was getting to be more of a mess. I’d seen nothing of the city. I met with old friends, made new ones, went to the same bar to watch the world cup, and generally out-stayed my welcome. Driving a girls Jaguar down winding mountain roads while getting a blow job was definitely a new experience. Smashing back white wine as soon as I woke up not so much. Assuming someone I care about is seeing someone else was deeply upsetting. Discovering I’d had two bottles of cologne, a 50 US bill, 10 GBP, 5 Canadian and my hair straighteners (yes deal with it) stolen back in Bucharest was a low point. Including the 10 pound Scottish note with the message “I hope you find your way back home one day” written on the back. To cap it all, the bag they used to stash all this stuff also contained my night guard that protected my teeth from grinding while I slept. That shit was expensive. My teeth are shit anyway.
The amount of stuff I’ve had stolen from me since traveling is now astounding. But 90% of that had something to do with me being drunk. Most of my recent trauma has had something to do with being drunk. Not dealing with my parents deaths resulted in being a drunk. Telling the same stories over and over again to gain a validation of strangers to replace their love…while being drunk. A coping mechanism for losing a girl? Get fucking drunk. I was drinking before I’d eaten. Down to one meal a day if that, replaced by at least two packs of Marlboro Gold. Enough was enough.
It was finally time for the horse ranch. For the good of my wallet, psyche, soul and health. It was time to go cold turkey on booze, smokes, internet, drugs and girls. It was time to go dark. It was time to disappear.