The Prodigal Son ReturnsSubmitted by Spam at 2007-07-09 09:10:14 EDT
Rating: 1.76 on 33 ratings (33 reviews) (Review this item) (V)
I don’t so much as wake up as just become conscious of the fact I’m no longer sleeping. Drunken excess and exhaustion have melded together to forge everything into a waking daze where nothing’s quite real except for the self conscious paranoia that I should be behaving at least semi-normally just in case it turns out that it is. Fuck me, none of that makes sense. I smile, hoping that I am actually awake. For the first time in over sixth months, I’m not alone in my bed.
A tinny R&B number that I’m almost certain I’d hate if I could actually hear it properly fades into my awareness and reality starts to snap into focus. A feminine groan next to me is accentuated by a creamy skinned arm that leans across me to grab the source of the music and I’m fully awake now - all except for the part of me that’s wondering if I can really describe an arm as being beautiful without being weird. Probably not.
I roll over and the huge grin I am met with is enough to convince me that this is all real. I don’t have an imagination that’s this good.
“Morning.” she says sleepily, snaking her arms round my neck and kissing me softly.
She withdraws slightly and I laugh and when asked why, it’s with great effort that I don’t blurt out the real reason for it - that I’m laughing because there’s been a cosmic mistake somewhere, Karmic Monopoly’s Bank Error in my favour. I’m laughing because I have absolutely no right to wake up next to a women this fucking gorgeous.
But all of this paranoia, doubt and self loathing end in one razor sharp instant when she breathes the question that’s the reason I’m sitting here at my keyboard typing.
“Why don’t you call in sick today and we can spend the whole day in bed together?”
I don’t even need to think about it. For once, I’m doing very well at work and can easily afford a day off without arousing suspicion. At the very worst I’ll get a verbal warning…
“So?” Paul asks “What did you do?”
I cock my head to one side and point to the tie around my neck with a pissed off expression. Richard looks incredulous for a few seconds and the bursts out laughing.
“Do you mean to tell me that you… fucking you of all people, somehow managed to take home a gorgeous fucking goddess of a women and the next day, when given the choice between spending eight painful hours tiered and hungover at your desk or having half-stoned lazy morning sex all fucking day, you actually went to fucking WORK?”
“yeah” I murmur sadly “yeah I did.”
I can’t quite believe it myself.
“Jesus, fucking Christ man. What the fuck happened to you?”
I have no idea.
Thing is, I’m doing pretty well for myself at the moment..
Fucking hell, right now I’m sitting on a shiny leather sofa in the living room of my enormous new flat typing into a wireless keyboard and watching the words appear on a 42” lcd screen on the opposite wall. It’s only because of my attitude towards work in the last six months that I’ve been able to earn enough to buy this kinda cool shit that I don’t really need.
But after this morning I’m not so sure. I think that somewhere along the line I’ve traded something off for all this shit and I’m not entirely sure that I’m happy about it. I’ve lost my edge, my impulsiveness, I’ve lost everything that I used to think was enjoyable and somehow, I’ve managed to exchange it for everything I despised. What’s worse, I’d almost convinced myself I was getting a good deal.
Eighteen months ago, I wrote some self indulgent bullshit about how I need to turn my life around and start taking things seriously again, I even came up with some bullshit Gump-esque analogy about how life is like a jigsaw with one piece always missing or some shit (http://www.ubersite.com/m/83419). Fucking hell I must have been smoking some good pot that night.
It’s all about balance though see? That Lao-Tzu Taoist bollocks - order and chaos, light and dark, all that shit. I’ve been concentrating too much on my Ying and now, well, let’s just say that now my Yang is starting to get pissed off about it.
I need to start having some fun again.
Monthly sales meeting. The whole fucking company without exception all stand around in one of the many unused floors of our new building that my overly ambitious boss recently bought with the intention of filling within a year. The musty smell of construction mixes with Calvin Kline and Hillfinger as the sales execs shuffled around the empty office, stepping gingerly over exposed electrical and networking cables. For some reason I am reminded of Fight Club.
We all stand around while the owner goes through any important business and then leaves, passing the floor to his bimbo PA who deals with the bullshit that nobody cares about enough to listen to. In all honesty, it doesn’t matter what she’s talking about anyway because I can’t stop thinking about the beautiful arm and thought erasing grin that I let slip away early so that I could be here on time.
Suddenly I’m angry about my choice, like I’ve been cheated somehow. Fuck these people. Fuck them for selling me on the fact that getting along well in my job should be the be all and end all of existence. Fuck them for convincing me that life without luxury is something to fear. I remember when all I needed was weed, cigarettes and somewhere to sleep.
Somebody nudges me to pay attention mid-epiphany and it seems with that one action that my fate is sealed, with almost no thought, I fling myself headlong down the path that I know will probably lead to financial ruin but fucking shit-loads of fun.
Laura the PA is just finishing explaining how the smoking ban will affect the company break policy to the two hundred or so of us and immediately I see an opportunity too good to pass up.
“…allowed anywhere on company property.” She is saying, “This policy does not just apply to cigarettes but also to cigars, pipes, roll-ups and anything else that can be smoked... Any Questions?”
I Raise my hand.
“What about Haddock?”
“…Or even Ham, you can smoke that…Is Ham banned from the premises too?”
I smile my biggest smile since seeing that arm come across me on Thursday morning and bask in the glow of a couple of hundred expressions turned to face me at back of the room, an even mix of mirth, outrage and confusion. As the PA looks at me with apoplectic fury, a feeling of total peace envelops me and I feel freer than I can ever remember.
Fucking hell, It’s good to be back.