Yesterday was an evening's practice in idealism.
On those melancholic evenings where I turn on myself and glare at myself and bite holes in my idealism and hate the naivety I've struggled so damnably hard to maintain...
I'll remember evenings like yesterday where in my shock and glee, everything I've fought so hard to believe in suddenly turned out True. And Right. And Noble.
And fucking worthwhile.
Motorcycle class, the theory class where Marc and I hacked our way past the inanities he had us practicing and took the exam instead - we kicked ass, got a 97 and a 91... We're going to try it again next week, and if'n we get the same results (which Marc is certain we will) then we're off to permit-land...
The look on the teacher's face (Mohammed as we eventually discovered), as we explained our results - first at the fact that we found our way into the evaluation section (we're in computers, Marc put simply with a delightful shrug that had my sides silently splitting), then at the fact that despite the girls in the room with us who were having a helluva time with the concept of wet roads and reduced traction, that we'd aced with flying colours. Even the bits about the throttles and stuff - but frankly, it's kinda obvious if you read da question....
Ahem. Watch me fail the exam now. ;)
So I'm at work, and drunk, not sure if'n there's still a bit of last night's pints in me or if it really only takes a couple of glasses of shite local resto beer to have me woozy these days.
I've decided to swap all my coffee mugs for crack pipes, a myriad of multicoloured spun glass tubules filled with caffeine-y goodness.
Then we went to McKibbin's fer dinner as has become habit on Tuesdays, and instead of meeting up with eight million people and heading off to the movies, we sat and smoked and drank
And talked.
For hours.
Until midnight, in fact, about terrors and masks and pangs and pains and idealism and naivete and I yelled at The Great Intimidating Marc for not taking a compliment and then he proceeded to scare the proverbial animated shit out of me for the same.
And he's a knight in shining armour, and before we parted ways last night the hug was extra-long and with something suspiciously wet in his eyes, Marc thanked me for listening.
Me, self-absorbed me, for listening.
Foufs was killer, tho dancing in a shirt and tie (despite the numerous compliments from "hey you look cool" to "oooh, wot a hottie!" all of which were disturbing) is considerably more difficult than the usual low-cut gothpunk garb.
A buncha guys (and Jo, the beautiful girl in tech-writing) came out with us, the hugs abounded as usual, this morning was hell on a stick but...
I feel like a good person inside, for a while.
Until someone else reminds me of how naive, selfish, self-absorbed, adolescent, or I am.
Even Caspian's iteration of "you've sold out you've sold out you've sold out" didn't phase me so much. (Tho I am wondering if I disagree with his point because he's being intolerant, or because I can't face myself, but... That's a good thing to consider)
Anyway, I'll stop rambling, I'm lazily drunk at work and afraid of returning to the painful stuff I have to have done for Monday.
In the meantime, tho --
Thank you Marc. For remaining the single most heroically strong and honest person I've ever met, and for actually having and living with as much integrity as I'd pegged you for, on two hits of acid at some thrashergoth party six years ago.
You're my longest standing friend. And for the first time in a long time, I actually believe myself capable of having one of those.
And I'm sorry I mentioned moving to France, but thank you so horrendously much for getting so upset about it.
I value my independence far too much, in fact Marc's the only person I know with worse commitment issues than I have - but...
You've no idea how much it meant... Because I know you won't believe it.
But I know how much it meant to you to have someone listen while you hurl your words pell-mell at the ghosts lined up behind you --
Because we rocks, we fools we glorious clowns --
With worlds massing in octarine-tinged chaos around us --
Are so fucking alone, sometimes. (Just like everybody else...)