Tuesday, December 11, 2012

The night my mobile phone should've stayed in

Do you know that feeling when you open your eyes in the "morning" (after noon) and the room is still feverishly moving around you? Yes? Everybody does.
Do you know that feeling when you open your eyes in the "morning" (before noon, because your hangover is disturbing your sleep) and the room is still feverishly dancing around you and you suddenly receive flashbacks of the night before? Yes? How about that...
Do you know that feeling when you open your eyes in the "morning" (eh, it is not important anymore) and the room is still feverishly dancing around you and you suddenly restore some parts of your lost memory and you are rapidly sobered up by text messages? No, you are not popular. The phone is not ringing. You made someone else popular last night with shameful, tasteless and uncensored texting that spoke your mind exactly as it was. The cruel reality...

Walking with a bag on you head for a month...

Let's say you fancy someone. Polite flirting, phone number exchange... everything went according to a plan secretly stored and locked in your head. You are alpha and omega of making your crush like you. So, why isn't he writing more often? What in the name of Eros happened? Is my plan outdated? Why hasn't he invited me to a coffee yet? It seems you are getting lost in the labyrinth of you hectic thoughts, however, to your own luck, your sober sanity is still there. You are playing hard to get, hell - you invented the game - and have no intention of texting whatsoever. Even though your mind plays tricks on you and from time to time your concentration drops, you still manage to get by and do all the work. You're the man (metaphorically speaking). By the evening he is long forgotten.
Because of all the hard thinking and other work you've done, now's the time to relax and revitalize with your friends. Just a quick refined drink and you're off. Back home preparing for yet another successful working day. However, this elegant evening got interrupted somewhere between third and fourth drink, when you already made peace with yourself about just being spontaneous. And speaking of it... how harmful could it be to write one short text message? Please. You are an adult perfectly capable of restraining yourself, right? Wrong. This civilized behavior turned into a texting contest - mostly to yourself - and by the time you've realized that no one hasn't replied for a while, you could not care less. That is, until the next morning. When the last of the scenarios above projected in your head. Not checking what you wrote last night, would have been the smartest thing to do, nevertheless, your curiosity have won. Wow. The extent of perversion to which a human mind can go. Wow. Amazing. Marquis de Sade would have been proud. All in all you cannot seem to decide why wasn't he replying anymore - perhaps he was masturbating all along and fell asleep in the middle, or his pure mind was completely destroyed by your filthy talk and he had to purify himself again by physical punishment? Or, and this is something you dislike, he is just not that into you?
Whatever the answer might be, you feel shame run through your body like electricity. Well, what's done is done. Next time... there will be no next time, because:

...or simply leaving your mobile at home?


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