Early afternoon drink : slide, 10/02/05

1. Conversation
“so, what’s your motivation?”, she asks, abrupt.
“what do you mean? I reply to give myself time to think.
“why do you live?”
“err.. some weeks, because I don’t want a stranger, let alone a friend, to find me dead. That’d be a shitty thing to do, so I live on. Some days because I think it might actually be worth it. It depends.”
“but what’s the meaning of it?”
I laugh. Flip. It’s that clichéd phrase, it’ll make me laugh. It’s an automatic response.
“well, why should I know. I don’t know, do I.”
“what’s the point of ..beeeep..being alive?” she prods.
“hey, stop pushing buttons on your phone. It depends.. I think.. well if you have religious faith or political ideology to carry you, then you’re more or less set. For the rest of us, nothing, I guess.”
“sorry, I slipped…but why do you even bother?” I hear ice cubes click in a glass.
“because I accepted a long time ago that even though there was no reason to be here, it didn’t mean it wasn’t worth it. Sometimes, it’s worth it.”
“…beeeep….t’s your motivation?”
“stop pushing buttons on your phone, I can’t hear you. I told you: it depends.” I hear a liquid being poured and stirred.
“sorry, I shlipped. But why do you bother?”
“because, however fucking hard it is right now, perhaps in ten years’ time I’ll look back and think it was worth it. Because there are some people I love, because although there’s shit and fear and desperation, there is also exhilaration, because there is beauty and there is hope. Because I can finally do the Tree pose, and also touch my toes. Because I’m a bit of a hedonist.. I don’t know what else to say.” I’m not proud of my answer, because I know she has no idea what hedonist means, and she’s getting too angry and too drunk to ask.
“touch your toes, that’s really.. that’s really sad.”
“maybe. It’s only a way to say that the way you live your life is a matter of perspective. Art, or faith, or yoga can be your perspective. It’s not all empty. It just looks that way sometimes, you have to adjust your perspective, take a step back, breathe in, I don’t know.”
“I think I should find a guy to get me pregnant and then have a kid, so I’ll never need anyone else.” More clicking of ice. More pouring and stirring.
“err..no. Sorry. Having kids because you need love is the shittiest thing you can do.” I could add, but I don’t, that and with her drinking and smoking habit, she has what, a ten, fifteen-year life expectancy? and that’s assuming that her body could cope with pregnancy.
I don’t think she needs to hear that from me. Let’s shut up the moralist inside.
“Will you come and visit me?” she asks.

2. I hesitate. I say I’ll think about it.
I foresee evenings lost in smoke, too much alcohol, more endless, naïve questions that I can’t answer, since I can’t give her a Meaning of Life on a plate, complete with instructions. I foresee desperate attempts at dark humour, bitter sallies, and me like a plum sitting there with no way to soothe, no solution save my fucking two pence philosophy on accepting the absurdity of it all and trying to squeeze good things out of the smallness of everyday life, and always hoping. I’m no messiah.

3. She tells me she’s wasted and can’t talk any more. It’s no surprise, her drinking, although considerably better, was already an issue when we were together. I’m not sure how to react. All I feel I can offer is the promise that I’ll ring her again soon.

4. I don’t think I’ll go see her. Is that selfish?


5. Strangely, as I get off the phone, I think of A. Suddenly I want to talk to her – every hurdle we met in our relationship seems so trivial compared to that dark opaque vortex of alcohol and self-hatred.

6. I’m off to do a tree pose and touch my toes.