Passenger

 

Roll the window down
This cool night air is curious
Let the whole world look in
Who cares who sees what tonight?
Roll these misty windows
Down to catch my breath and then
Go and go and don’t just
Drive me home and back again.
-Maynard

 

Spring is here, with all due consequences. For one, just like the next mammal, Maarten is having an extremely hard time keeping his libido in check. There’s no need even for summer fashion, which will outright kill me considering miniskirts were in this winter– you twisted bunch. No, rising temperatures is all it takes. Or is it really that? Could it be some scent, some season-bound chemical in the air?
It’s getting to be a real issue, though. I don’t really know what to do with myself (no pun intended), I remember spring having this effect on me before but then I had a more than willing subject to take the worst. But she’s off on a fucking spree, I hear. It’s good to be a girl, in that sense. Walk into a bar with your mind set on getting laid, and you’re getting laid. No sweat.

I’m sure the people around me would have noticed by now. I’m like a woman on PMS. Though usually I’m quite stable so this would put me on “normal” level. Nevertheless, the thoughts popping up are not. I would explain myself but I’m not, lest people actually read it. Suffice to say that they’re not helping me.

Another inevitable symptom of seasons changing is the previously largely unnoticed presence of the sun. I’ve been working outside the past week and at times I was walking around in T-shirt, even dozed off on the floor boards during break. God, I missed the sun. This comforting warmth, this freedom to walk around lightly clothed, both making the outdoors a wonderful place to be in. Or well, out.
I longed for the day when I noticed the rays on my back, and I knew summer was coming.
Had I been aware what the result would be, I would have known better.

I never expected the feeling to be so bittersweet. This relaxing sensation, the urge to lounge in the sun caused memories to come rushing back, of last summer and those before. Like so many things, solar warmth is something that should not be enjoyed alone.
As much as I want to, I’m not going to go into detail. These are memories that serve no purpose anymore, and will die over time, as they should. Erased, bringing me back to a clean slate, the spotless mind. Farewell, soulmate I mistook you for.

 

I am broke. Violently. It has become frightfully obvious that I came back home just in time, since I still have to last another month before income picks up again. I went around knocking on people’s door to claim debts at a modest success rate, I hope that will keep me afloat. To make matters worse, my latest job, lasting over a week, has no catering. Expenses are returned but once again: next month. I’m down to zero, literally. I can go into debt with the bank but that’s not a place I want to be in, though it would seem I have no other choice.

Friends contacted me, a group of guys asking me if I want to join them to Scotland for a hiking trip of around 5 days. It took me about half a minute of consideration before I blurted out, “Sure why not.” It’s my standard answer for anything that seems ridiculous to even mention, but this time it really is backfiring on me. To avoid rising ticket prices they ordered already, covering my share until I can pay them back: well over €200. Add to this the fact that I have no camping gear at all after my complete set of top-grade material got fucking stolen at Graspop festival last year, and I’m sure you can imagine my chances of collecting all this before departure –may 17th- are as slim as an Ethiopian on hunger strike.
Talk about a luxury problem.

 

I woke up to the sound of my neighbors fucking this morning. These walls weren’t exactly built with isolation in mind, so I might as well have been sitting right next to them. They weren’t taking it easy, either. She kept screaming for him but I got the impression he was just hurting her in all his vigor, I had to fight the urge to go knock on their door and explain this to him. Then again, he’s getting laid, so he must be doing something right.

I saw an interview once with Josh Homme, singer of the Queens of the Stone Age among other things, who claimed to passionately dislike those “mosh pits” (snake pits, whatever) in front of the stage during their gig. He explained that this was simply energy better spent fucking, and such behavior only shows sexual frustration.

I couldn’t help but think of this man as I kicked off the sheets and came down the stairs, determined to fix my tap today. I’m sure it’s not quite what he meant but I have the tendency to visualize his big handsome ginger face in bed anyway.

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