Only 2 Perch Restfully on Barrels of Issued Rifle

I'm at work now, smoking a cig at me cubic. I came 45 mins late, which rarely happens and never feels good. Every one seems unusually quite...Friday afternoons. They always scare me. I can feel something is about to happen and I don't know what it is but I'm sure it won't be beautiful.

Last night alright. I laughed till I suffocated in Diwaniya. Nothing was new it was just one of those comfortable nights, no one was winning...(interrupted by work)

Ok, Back...What was I saying...yes, last night. There was no special events, but there was a notable general feeling of satisfaction among my freinds in diwaniya. There was strong positive vibe. Just looking into one of my Friends' eyes counted as a long, good conversation. the diwaniya's white dull walls felt so assuring for some reason. I was caught a couple of times worrying about something, but there were those fast looks that came suddenly to rescue me. "Everything is Gonna be Alright" was last night's hidden/subtel slogan. It feels so fuckin good to have freinds like these. Ones that you could telepathitically communicate with although you're not under the influence.

Work is mellow today, but as I said there is the feeling that something abrupt is about to happen today. the feeling is now fading as I remembered last night.

Next to my cubic now sits my co-worker who -like me- reads and write poetry. Unlike me, he openly considers himself a poet living for poetry. I sometimes admire him for that because I don't have the gut to express this attitude openly like him. At the same time I feel sorry for him because I don't think its making his life easier.

Poetry rescued me from various life-threatning situations especially during my college years in the US. I remeber a couple of termes following my break-up with a girl freind who I lived with under one roof for more than two years. I did not plan -neither did she- to live the rest of my life with her, but I was not ready for the change I guess. So I escaped reality with various kinds of "trancsendant activities" as I called them. ...Ready for the flash back....here it comes:

The seperation day:
We are huging at the porch. She is sobing and I have two options: either to sob with her or to smile my face numb. I choose the second opetion, which makes me feel like a fuckin statue with no feelings, but I have no other options (Do I?). To unleash my feelings means to crush and make her crush with me. I don't want that to happen so I, slowly but firmly, pull away, hold her head with both hands and kiss her forhead. "babye hon," i say. She wipes her tears and leaves. It doesn't feel real for me.

"Ok, I'm single and free now," I tell my self as if I'm trying to look at the positive side, but deep inside I know it's Psycho-therapy bull shit. "Focus...Focus," I tell my self as I'm possessing my back-pack. I grab my bike and leave home quickly heading to school. "I'll finish this term-paper within two hours," I tell myself. I bike so fast so I wouldn't make-up my mind and turn back to the porch where I would've been pathetically sobing like a baby.

To the school I was heading, but GOD DAM IT I made that turn. I knew it was gonna happen, but I was trying to destract the idea by ignoring it. I should've fought it face to face I guess. It happened anyway and I took that turn within 20-25 minutes I'll be biking back to the house with a scotch bottle in my back-pack. "It's not my fault that the county decided liquer stores could open on Sundays..."

It's been 3 years since I had scotch in my first encounterment with alcohol. I was never a fan of hard liquer, but at this particular day I'm not a big fan of life either. "I want to be somewhere else, other than life," I tell myself. The idea of death cross my mind, but come on I just burned Um Kalthoum's "Lissa Fakr" and "Alf Laila" on CDs and I'm planning to Walk with Johnny while I listen to the CDs and play my 3ood. "The plan sounds more fun than death," I tell my self and take a courageous, mouthfull sip from the bottle.

Half way through the wicked Walk with Johnny, I sit in a chair behind Um Kalthoum as I play my 3ood. "De Lelat 7ob 7ilwaa, be Alf Lela o le le le Lailaa." I wake up next mourning, thinking that Johnny lured me during last night's walk and gave me a blow on the head with his stick. "Le le le leailaaaaa," the dead women insists although the Sun is annoying the hell outta my eyes. I missed one class already and I have a sick-leave signed by Dr. Hangover, so the rest of the day is off.....(To be continued)

I'm still at work. The ashetray looks scary. My poet neighbor at the cubic-hood must've hated me for making him negatively chain-smoke.

If you're thinking I slacked my working hours blogging, let me intriduce you to "Masked Unemployment." She's the boss in all Kuwaiti state-run institutions. Did I say that I submitted my Resume to a number of private sector companies? (crossing my fingers AND toes)

Gotta leave...