dumb and dummer

I did something really dumb. Don’t know what happened really. It somehow started because I couldn’t watch Violetta die. Got both antsy and oppressed. Thought I was going postal. Watching all the others around me. So I left.

A pity really. It was a fantastic rendering. Really enjoyed. Or part of me did. Or part of me knew that I could be really enjoying this. If. If only.

Anyway I left just after Alfredo’s father visit and fled. Literally fled. Came home to a mixture of self loathing and pity. I should have gone to Anthony’s party. Might have helped. Instead I got myself a glass of wine. At home. I felt the walls closing upon me. As if the lungs couldn’t get enough air. As if my ribs were getting tighter. As if misery has become solid and the air to breathe was turning to water and I would slowly, excruciatingly slowly dive under and drown.

It is a strange feeling when things you like start failing you. My first opera was with my dad. funny how now children seem to be unable to sit tight for a Walt Disney animation movie and only a few decades ago, it was normal not to fidget around for a 3 + hours.

Not sure I was better brought up and certainly not terrified by some father figure. No terrified but this was the condition for obtaining the treat. And being allowed to tag along .to go to . to enter the world of adulthood. To sit next to him. It was such a favour. it was bestowed upon me when I was 8. I was finally allowed not to stay at home. I would have kept still for even longer. Did I get bored then? Probably. Can’t remember. Opera music is an acquired taste. And I doubt I would have adopted it spontaneously. But why does it matter now? In the same vein I am not so sure that learning to read was an exhilarating experience, can’t remember how it felt. b-a ba. But the pleasure of reading that one I remember. It even remains true today.

Should have taken a book really. But the same restlessness prevented me from reading. And I looked at the knife and I though that it would calm the urge to . it would be doing something. It felt childish when I had it in my hand. I dropped it and when back to drinking wine.

« S’il y avait de l’encre à l’hôtel d’Angleterre, pour vous couper les veines, vous n’auriez pas de raison?”

Maiakovski wasn’t going to help.