Pissed. I'm pissed.
I've been to the work trivia night. We came embarrassingly last. We reckon it was rigged. But it's a university based company, we've all got a degree, at a minimum.
The beautiful Luke sat next to me. I found that I kept touching him. On the arm. Rubbed my leg against his. Punched him. Hugged him. High fived him when we got one right. Noticed a cute girl at the same time as him - which may not be exactly the image I was going for. Laughed with him. Gazed at him. Tousled his hair, as I said good bye. He didn't back way from any of it. He was pissed too.
When I absentmindedly rubbed his arm, I decided it was time to leave.
I staggered off into the dark. I tried to run for a tram, but ended up laughing in the middle of Bourke Street, when I couldn't get one foot in front of the other, quickly. Those watching must have though I was nuts. Alcohol is just wicked stuff. Not my first drug of choice. Too goddamn messy for me. Hick! My eyes go on half vision. Hick! My brain does too, but I keep it tightly in check on the evil brew. My face goes numb. My mouth gets a mind of its own. My whole orientation to the world gets slightly skewed. Off balance.
A pissed girl on the tram flirted with me. Gotta love a big city. The trip home felt like I was on a rollercoaster, on slow mo. I stepped sideways off the bloody thing, at my stop, I'm sure. Beer-eyes were on as I staggered up Gertrude Street, laughing. That unsteady, weeeeeeeeee, feeling, whenever I change direction on booze, is funny. It makes me laugh - and quite possibly unapproachable - even when I'm determined not to find it funny at all. It's the same feeling as the downward motion on the swing in the park... quite possibly as a sixteen year old. Same funny gene.
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