Reflections in a Bloodshot Eye

I woke up with a woman in my bed. At least I hope it was a woman. It had long black hair and brown ankles. The rest was curled up under my sheets. I have nice sheets. Cobalt blue. I find this colour easiest on the eye after a night of debauchery. And this morning was one of those mornings which can only follow a night of debauchery. My eyes were stinging, my ears were ringing, my throat was sore and my head was banging with the sound of a jackhammer somewhere within a ten mile radius of my apartment. My gut didn’t feel so great either. As for my memories of the preceding twenty four hours; they were lurking around in small pockets of information somewhere in my brain. They were locked away in some file that was locked away in another file that had been given a misleading name in case of snoopers like those porn films that usually come in a case marked “Best of Disney”.

As for the woman who was now lightly snoring under my sheets. I had no idea at all. Faces kept appearing in front of me; women that I’d talked to, women that I’d joked with, women who I’d seen on TV but wasn’t sure if I knew in real life or not. What were the chances that I’d managed to seduce Mary Tyler Moore circa 1965? Not good but I live in hope.

Friends have often remarked on the unhealthy state of my life. Most of these friends fall into a similar category as the Rolling Stones and Eric Clapton telling kids not to do drugs. Men who, a mere year or two back, were carefree bar-hopping fun-junkies but had now found the peace, security and self righteousness of a serious relationship often suggest that I am killing myself and wasting my life. Then, having established this much, they go on to yap on with great enthusiasm about politics, football, gadgets and their financial futures which, ironically enough, makes me want to kill myself.

It’s not that I’m mistrustful of serious relationships per se. Just that they seem to fit in to this whole philosophy of life that I spent much of my early life itching to get away from. If, having escaped to the other side of the world, I slipped back into that same set of moral values I might as well have stayed in dear old blighty.

The philosophy goes something like this: Pay now and reap your rewards much later. This isn’t a terrible philosophy if you’re talking agriculture or financial packages. I live within the means set by the interest on a good set of financial investments (I could have spunked my cash years ago and been broke as a backpacker). The trouble with this philosophy is that what works in agriculture and shouldn’t necessarily be applied to all of life. I’ve seen the effects of delayed gratification in the west. It usually means a life of absolute misery and no gratification at all (unless that comes after death).

I know, you’re probably wondering how I became so incredibly wise. Well… It didn’t come overnight. I was once caught in the rat race of life. I was full of ambition. I wanted to save the world and maybe start a family while I was at it. Then I discovered something… And I discovered this while still living and working in London. The world is full of cunts and it’s really really hard (maybe impossible) to tell the few nice people from all the cunts so it’s probably wisest not to trust anyone or believe anything that anyone says ever. Be as decent as you can be without sacrificing anything or making yourself unhappy and you’ll feel the benefits without ever getting screwed over. I know a lot of men apply this adage solely to Thai women. This is just racist bullshit from broken hearted farang. The truth is I’ve probably met more genuinely decent Thai women (including prostitutes) than decent human beings in any walk of life anywhere. I wouldn’t marry one intentionally (accident can happen) but then I wouldn’t marry anyone intentionally. All wisdom comes at a price and I paid dearly for this knowledge way before I started drinking and sleeping around.

Attachment to people, ideas or the outcome of events we have no control over is the primary cause of all human misery. Not that I’m so great at completely avoiding these attachments. Just that, in my neutral state, I know that these are things to be avoided rather than things to rush into. Alcohol is a great way to avoid attachments because, for all its ill effects, it kind of kills the very parts of you that hangs on to shit. The guy you drink with is a guy who you love as your best friend in the whole world. The following day you might not even remember him. Similarly, when sufficiently drunk, every woman who offers herself to you in any way is the one true love of your life right up until the point she excuses herself to go to the bathroom and you see another woman. Alcohol and women complement each other perfectly. I would even go so far as to suggest that you should always avoid women when you’re sober… But then you should also avoid ever being sober.

The woman in my bed stirred under the sheets and said “coffee”. Dutifully I made her a coffee and she poked her head from under the covers.

The words “shit shit shit shit shit shit shit” seemed to be on a loop in my head.

I’d just slept with my ex wife.

© Turk Fist. All rights reserved by the author.

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